


(mis)matched

by checkmate



Series: (mis)matched [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Demisexual spectrum Bruce Banner, Fake Science, M/M, Slow Build, in the only way tony and bruce know how, overthrowing governments and generally fucking the establishment, with science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:47:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkmate/pseuds/checkmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When finding your soulmate by the age of thirty is taken for granted, those who never meet their other half are thrown together and left to face the stigma against Automatic Matching. Most people learn to deal with it, living under the radar in the knowledge that the alternative is worse. </p>
<p>Forced together by SHIELD, Bruce Banner and Tony Stark aren’t most people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God here we go again. Shoutout to mothwrites (bunnybanner on tumblr) and tonysbruce for putting up with me being an annoying shit 24/7.

Bruce had been working for so long that he’d completely lost track of time. The dark, dingy lab that had pretty much become his home had no windows, and he’d smashed the clock against the wall hours ago because the obnoxiously loud ticking was driving him crazy. He’d been down there long enough that even his phone had died on its ass, and his only working watch got sold for rent money three months ago. It must be getting close to midnight; he hadn’t seen or heard another person in a while, and no one at the lab really goes home before eight.

He regretted destroying the clock now; not knowing how long you had until a deadline didn’t help one meet it in the slightest. He didn’t know what else there was to do. It was too late. His progress had been too slow, his research misguided, rooted in desperation rather than scientific fact. Everyone around him had known this for weeks now—and if he was being honest to himself, he’d known it too. He just refused to be beaten, refused to lie down and do nothing and wait for SHIELD to walk all over him.

His work might not have proved a thing, but at least he put up a fight.

Just as he considered running over his tests once more in a feeble, last minute attempt to collect something worthwhile, the door to the lab buzzed and whirred to life. Bruce looked up reluctantly, catching Jane’s eye. She doesn’t usually stay this late—she must have waited around just for him. “Is it time?” He asked, silently willing his colleague to say no, to tell him he had days—months, years even—to finish his work.

But Jane Foster nodded, a steaming mug of tea held awkwardly in one hand. She looked at him with an unmistakeable look of sadness and pity in her eyes as she watched Bruce slump back into his chair, hopelessly trying to blink away the tears. It was over. “I wish I could say that I was _close_.” He spat eventually, sweeping a load of papers to the floor in a feeble attempt to siphon off his aggression. “Or that I had any kind of evidence to back my theory up at all. There’s something in the blood Jane, I _know_ there is. Something doesn’t add up, but I can’t fucking find what it is.”

“Bruce, _this_ is not a theory. We’ve been fine with you using the lab after hours to run tests for a couple of months now, but… You can’t carry on like this. Not anymore.” Jane shook her head slowly, putting the mug down on a coaster by his arm. “It’s time for you to move on.”

Bruce felt the anger building up inside him and for once, didn’t try to quash it. Anger at SHIELD, anger at Jane, anger at himself—he snatched up the hot tea and threw it against the wall, watching almost from the side lines as it shattered and chunks of porcelain flew across the room, liquid running down the breezeblocks. Jane barely flinched, and grabbed a cloth to start mopping the tea from the surrounding work benches, attempting to save some of the pages of notes Bruce had scribbled in the past few weeks. Bruce scoffed. “Leave them. It’s not like they’re worth anything to me now.”

Jane pulled up a chair beside him and placed one hand on his arm gently. It was that slight bit of comfort, the smallest amount of sympathy and kindness, that made Bruce eventually break down into tears. “I hate this.” He muttered, taking the tissue Jane offered him silently and wiping his eyes. “I don’t want to—I _can’t._ ”

“Bruce, I know it’s easier for me because I chose my Match, but it’s not a _bad_ thing.” She started, trying to console him. “It’ll work out, I promise. It always does.”

“Jane, everyone knows that only the dregs of society are automatically Matched. What do you think the chances are that a guy like _Thor_ ends up Unmatched aged thirty, and has to wait for the government to set it up for them?” Bruce snorted. It was drilled into everyone’s head from fucking kindergarten; you better meet your own Match, or you will be guaranteed a life time of misery and despair at the hands of another Match reject, another loser no-one else wanted. Everyone always wrote it off as a horror story, meant to scare, which, Bruce supposed, it was, until you became eligible for Automatic Matching and the horror story became reality.

“Not all Automatic Matches are a disaster! I’m sure loads of people are happy with their Autos.”

“Oh yeah? Name someone you know whose Auto worked out.” Bruce challenged her, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Jane, don’t be naïve. The only ‘successful’ Matches SHIELD ever makes are those stupid couples that go on the Match Programme propaganda posters. And they’re getting paid to look happy. I hardly think that counts.”

Jane bit her lip, and at least had the decency to look sheepish. Bruce sighed and looked away, trying to keep his emotions under control. He didn’t want Jane to see him fall apart any further. He hated feeling this weak. She was silent, as if she was desperately trying to think of something to say to make him feel better.

After several minutes of silence, Jane stood up. “Happy birthday, Bruce.” She said quietly, turning back as she was just about to leave the room.

The words alone made Bruce’s heart plummet even more than it already had. _Yeah._ He thought darkly. _Happy fucking birthday to me._

*

He had a couple of weeks to wait before he got his summons, a few weeks spent sitting in his shitty little apartment, staring at walls and not thinking. Jane visited him once or twice, but he could barely speak to her, bitter in the knowledge that, of course, she was right all along—his research was baseless and futile and he didn’t have the means to produce anything concrete anyway. Even the fucking intern gave up after a while, Darcy telling him with next to no sympathy that he was depressing her and that he needed to stop moping around and move on.

At least she was honest.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, going to the lab to see Jane one last time the day before his Match appointment. They had their disagreements, sure, but her and her team were still the closest things he had to friends. “I didn’t mean to be so…” He couldn’t find the words, and even to his own ears the apology sounded hollow. Jane shrugged it off; she was well used to his bullshit by now, he supposed. “Thanks.”

She looked up at him. “For what?”

Bruce shrugged, collapsed into the only seat not stacked high with files and papers and notes. “I don’t know. The job? For humouring my stupid ideas? For being a friend? Pick whichever one you want.”

Jane smiled despite herself. “You don’t have to thank me for being your friend, Bruce.”

“Yeah, well.”

“What’s all this about anyway? You’re talking like you’re never going to see me again.”

Bruce ran a hand through his curls, which had grown ridiculously out of control. He should probably sort that out before tomorrow. “My Match appointment is in SHIELD’s New York office. Looks like I’m going to have to move half way across the fucking country.” It wasn’t much, what he had in New Mexico, but it was a home and a few friends and a job, and that was more than he could say about a lot of places he’d lived. He’d never really been one for big cities, preferring the  quiet and isolation that a small town brings, so where does his Match live? _New York_. Of course.

“That does suck.” Jane acknowledged. “But it’s New York, Bruce, not the middle of the Sahara desert. I know enough people in New York to visit pretty regularly. Hey, Thor lived there for years, and most of his friends still do. It’s hardly going to be goodbye, is it? When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want to cause a fuss because I really don’t want the attention, but I thought you deserved to be told properly.”

“I’m going to miss you, Bruce.” She said sadly.

“I’m going to miss you, too.”

*

“Name?”

Bruce sighed. The waiting room for the registration offices was cold and bare, and there were only a handful of people in there, sat in pairs with happy smiles on their faces. The walls held nothing but a few faded, torn posters about what SHIELD can do to help you in your Match, and he tried to resist the urge to tear them down. “Robert Bruce Banner.” He told the clerk reluctantly. She looked at his I.D. for barely a second before tapping some buttons on her computer.

“And your date of birth?”

Bruce tutted. SHIELD had all of this information on file already, and far more advanced methods of proving identity than this. “April 18th, 1985.” Her eyes flicked up and down again at that piece of information, and Bruce felt oddly violated by this random stranger analysing him like that. He cleared his throat falsely, and she didn’t even fluster a little bit.

“You’re thirty, huh?” She said, picking absently at a loose thread on her uniform. Bruce said yes, he was, in fact, thirty, and the registration clerk _hummed appreciatively._ “And Unmatched? That’s surprising.”

Bruce gritted his teeth and nodded tersely, trying not to blush. It was humiliating, being Unmatched at his age, and he had reached the point that he entirely expected to be treated differently to other people because of it. But the entirely inappropriate registration clerk just raised an eyebrow and said, “If only we’d met a few months earlier, handsome.”, before handing him a large envelope with his name and ‘ELIGIBLE FOR AUTOMATIC MATCHING’ printed on the front in unnecessarily large letters, and telling him to take a seat and wait for Ms. Romanoff to call for him.

He sat down next to an excited looking couple, who immediately turned and smiled at him happily. “We’re registering our Match.” The man explained, squeezing his… girlfriend’s, Bruce supposed, hand. “What about you?”

Bruce thought about lying, but there really weren’t that many reasons why a man of his age would be alone at a registration office in the first place. Besides, the man’s eyes had already flicked down to the envelope on his lap, a look spreading across his face that highlighted how much he wished he’d never started this conversation. “An Automatic Match has been allocated to me and I’m here to meet them for the first time.” He said quietly, reciting from the informational pamphlet he’d been sent the previous week. The couple shifted noticeably away from him as he _confessed_ , and they didn’t speak to him again. Fortunately, they were called in to an office soon enough, and they walked off sparing Bruce only a brief pitiful but slightly disgusted glance.

Bruce, needless to say, felt like shit. He knew discrimination against people on Auto was prevalent these days, but this was his first real experience of it. People had always told him he’d definitely find his Match soon—there was no guarantee when you’d meet them, only that it happens before the age of thirty. Friends of friends told him stories about friends of their friends who knew someone who met his Match the day before he turned thirty. _There’s still hope._ He’d heard the phrase again and again, but he stopped believing it would ever happen for him years ago.

“You know, if a sexy piece of ass like you can’t find his own Match then this whole system really is totally fucked.” Another man had taken the place of the couple by his side, and was also staring at the not at all subtle envelope, a smile playing on his lips. Bruce vaguely recognised him, but couldn’t put a name to the face. The man didn’t bother introducing himself though, but just continued to look Bruce up and down, like he couldn’t believe he actually fucking existed. He was starting to get fed up of people doing that today; no-one had been interested in thirty years, but as soon as he’s eligible for Auto, people are all over him. Just his fucking luck. Maybe it was the hair cut. Bruce didn’t really know what the guy wanted him to say after that dramatic statement, so he just fiddled awkwardly with the corner of his envelope.

The mystery man twisted his infuriatingly attractive face into a smirk. “You can open that, you know.” He said, gesturing at Bruce’s envelope. “It’s just paperwork about your Match. Rules, regulations, your partner’s identity. If you might be interested.” He said, acting casual. Bruce’s head snapped up. “Caught your attention, didn’t it?” He grinned. “I’ll give you some space. Give me a shout if you need help with anything…” He craned his neck to read the writing on the envelope. “Robert.”

“Bruce.” The word had left his mouth before Bruce even realised, so used to correcting people automatically. The man looked back over his shoulder, head tilted to the side in confusion, eyes focussed on the neatly printed ‘Robert’ he was holding. “I… Uh… Everyone calls me Bruce.”

“Okay, then Bruce. I’m Tony.” Bruce nodded and thanked him, and the man walked away looking slightly bemused, as if Bruce was living on a different planet.

From the cut of Tony’s suit, he may as well have been. That thing must have cost thousands.

He tore open the seal and pulled out several incredibly boring looking booklets and more pamphlets and a list of guidelines and terms and conditions  before he found what he was looking for—the Match profile. It was a man, thank God, something Bruce hadn’t been sure of since SHIELD weren’t exactly renown for taking sexuality into account when they made their Autos; they Matched to make it convenient for them, usually males and females for procreation purposes.

He continued looking down his form. Anthony Edward Stark, lives in New York City. His career was listed as ‘Entrepreneur’, and previous employers, Bruce noticed, included SHIELD, which didn’t exactly fill Bruce with confidence, until he saw the Annual Earnings line, and he nearly dropped the file in shock because holy hell, that was an _incredible_ amount of money. That had to be a typo, or a misplaced decimal point or something. He continued flicking through the pages, hesitating briefly to read a mixed feedback page of character references. ‘Stark can be hard-working, dedicated and loyal, but he can also be drunk, more drunk and lying down with a tiny blonde bouncing on his ****.’ He read, getting more and more concerned by the minute. ‘A genius by all accounts, with an incredibly difficult personality.’, and a rather intricate story involving what sounded like a _lot_ of property damage and a flock of wild geese.

He had what he thought was a fairly well rounded picture of his Match in his mind by the time he had finished reading all the profiling—rich, smart, and by most accounts, an arrogant jerk _. It could have been worse, that’s for sure._ Bruce thought, flipping on to the final page which contained a large black and white photograph of his new partner, and he gasped.

“It’s you!” He squeaked, spinning around to where Tony had moved just in time to see him saunter into an office the other side of the lobby, the door shutting behind him. “But… but… Tony _Stark_?” He thought desperately. The name or the face by themselves hadn’t been enough for him to connect the dots, but them together… His new Match was _Anthony Stark_ , son of one of the most successful energy entrepreneurs ever. His father Howard Stark partially funded Jane Foster’s laboratory back in New Mexico. God, he’d even shaken Howard’s hand at a research and development conference a year or so before the man’s death.

He absently wondered if Tony had been there too, and he just hadn’t realised who he was. What were the chances? This whole thing felt far too coincidental to be real.

“Dr. Banner?” A voice called, and Bruce looked up to see a stunning redheaded woman in an unbelievably well fitted power suit calling him from across the room. Bruce stood up, clutching the wad of paper in his hand nervously, and hurried over to where she stood. “Take a seat, Doctor.” She said after she’d ushered him in to the room and closed the heavy wooden door behind them with a bang. “Can I get you a drink?”

Bruce looked at the selection of drinks on a side table in the surprisingly spacious office. “Uh, a tea would be nice. Thank you, um...”

“Natasha Romanoff.” She said, holding one hand out for him to shake before putting the kettle on. “I specialise in the more complicated cases of our Automatic Matching Program here at the SHIELD Registry.”

Bruce’s heart stuttered. “Complicated?” He asked nervously, biting his lip. “Why… Why is this case complicated?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor, it’s nothing we can’t handle. I see you’ve opened your envelope.” She acknowledged the mound of paper still tightly clutched in his hand, the photograph of Tony still open on top. “He was only ever going to go by Auto, but it’s taken us a while to find Mr. Stark a suitable Match.” She sighed. Bruce blinked. Did Stark have everyone here wrapped around his little finger? “But no matter. You’re here now.” She ended with a cool, calming smile, and he couldn’t help but notice just how good she was at her job. She pressed a steaming cup of tea into Bruce’s hand, taking a sip from hers as she just watched him.

Bruce had no idea what was going on; he just wanted to go home to his flat in New Mexico, take a bath and sleep this whole nightmare off. He highly suspected, however, that he wouldn’t be going back to New Mexico any time soon. “When do I meet him?” Bruce asked quietly, his thumb absently running along the edge of the picture. Natasha noticed the movement, and Bruce noticed that she noticed, and blushed, dropping his hands into the relatively safety of his knees. “Properly, I mean… I, um…”

Natasha brushed it off, smiling a smile that Bruce could only describe as corporate. “Now, if you’d like. You both need to sign off the paperwork anyway.” She pursed her lips a little, as if she was deciding how much she should really say. “I’ll… I’m going to warn you, Dr. Banner, off the record, that Mr. Stark can be a little… trying, sometimes. He’s not brilliant at communicating like a normal person and… Well, don’t take everything he says seriously, because he takes pleasure in getting under people’s skin.”

“Thanks, Ms. Romanoff, but I’m sure I can handle it.” He tried to sound calm, confident, in control, but he could barely stop his voice from shaking and she knew he was lying to both her and himself. The descriptions scared the crap out of him, honestly. He didn’t know how to deal with people like that; hell, he’d spent fifteen years actively keeping away from the life and soul of the party, the big name on campus. He kept his head down and didn’t get involved; that’s how he survived.

“She giving you the warning, huh? I didn’t realise your job now included giving character references, Natasha.” A cocky, lilting voice from behind him made Bruce jump, sloshing tea over his hand. “Tony Stark. I think we’ve met.” The man—his new… _partner_ , Bruce thought nervously—smirked, holding his hand out for Bruce to shake. Bruce nodded, put his tea down hastily and took his hand. “I’d rather you make your own judgements on me, if you don’t mind.” Bruce nodded again, staying silent because he was far too intimidated to say a word. He didn’t know how to _talk_ to people like Toy Stark. He wasn’t rich, or interesting, and he didn’t know the right people to pretend to be rich or interesting. And here he was, about to be entered into a Match with one of the richest, most influential people on the planet. Bruce didn’t know what to think any more, other than to be glad that he hadn’t said anything rude in response to Natasha’s warning.

“Mr. Stark, I need you to sign here and here.” Natasha cut in efficiently, holding out a pen and sliding a few stapled sheets of paper across the table. “Dr. Banner, your signature on this line and this line, please.”

Bruce took the pen and did as he was instructed, and Tony did the same, and with that, Bruce, at aged thirty, had signed away the rest of his life to a man he’d met barely thirty minutes before.

“Dr. Banner, your registered address has officially been changed to Anthony Stark’s listed residence on the SHIELD database and you are no longer eligible for Automatic Matching. You’re free to go.”

Bruce looked from Natasha to Tony, and stood up nervously. His heart pounded in his chest as he followed Tony from the room, taking the first steps of a completely new life.

“You don’t need to look so scared, you know.” He teased as they made their way back through the labyrinth that was the New York Matching Office. “I promise, I don’t bite.”

Bruce laughed weakly. He wished he could say firmly, convincingly, that he wasn’t scared, but that was a lie. Sure, Tony seemed like a nice enough guy, but very few people _don’t_ when you’ve known them for all of ten minutes. He was going to live with him. For the rest of his life. That was a pretty scary concept. “Sorry, I’m not good at meeting new people.” He said, and it sounded pathetic even to his ears. Tony Stark, world renowned playboy and socialite, got stuck with him, an anti-social self confessed nerd who preferred data analysis to parties.

He wasn’t sure what kind of cruel joke this was. He just knew that he didn’t find it particularly funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a long ten months in the making, but on the bright side, this one is actually 100% finished! No waiting around for the last few chapters like last time. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter; it'll probably be about one a week. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr as [scibros](http://scibros.tumblr.com), so please come and hang out if you want.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, quick content warning. Stuff gets a little dub-conny towards the end of this chapter. I'll put a more detailed warning in the end notes--self care guys. Self care is important. 
> 
> Also, thanks for everyone's lovely feedback to chapter one I love you all so much.

The drive home was, in itself, an experience beyond anything Bruce had ever known before. Roaring through the streets of New York with the top down on a shiny, black Jaguar F Type was not the life Bruce was used to, before he even took into consideration the stupidly attractive stranger in the seat next to him, loudly and proudly singing along to the Black Sabbath blasting from the car stereo and ignoring the disapproving looks of various members of the public.

“So, you’re a doctor, huh?” Tony shouted over the music, his fingers idly tapping the steering wheel along with the rhythm. “Medical doctor?”

“I, uh… N-no, not med- can we turn the music down?” He asked, struggling to make himself heard.

“You heard the man, JARVIS.” Tony said nonchalantly, and the volume dropped instantly. Tony’s fingers never left the wheel. Bruce stared from him to the stereo and back, and Tony grinned, stepping in to answer his question before the words had left his mouth. “JARVIS is an AI. I programmed him in to basically every piece of technology I own. Perfect universal simulated interface.” Bruce looked suitably impressed. His Auto Match was hot, rich, famous _and_ capable of advanced feats of engineering and programming? Bruce couldn’t help but wonder what the catch was. “So, your doctorate?”

“No, I’m not a medical doctor.” Bruce said quietly, a smile tugging on his lips despite himself. “I have some unofficial medical training but nothing formal.”

“What’s your PhD, then?” Tony prompted, looking genuinely interested, although Bruce would have preferred it if he were looking at the road; Tony’s reckless driving was making him feel a little queasy.

“I, uh… I have three.” He confessed, and Tony damn near crashed the car.

“Three?” He said in disbelief. “Banner, who the fuck has _three_ PhDs? And- wait, who the fuck has three PhDs by the age of thirty? What are they in?”

“Nuclear physics specialising on gamma radiation, quantum physics and biochemistry.” Bruce said nervously, trying to play it off like it was normal. Honestly, he just did the biochemistry one for fun.

“Biochemistry? You have a doctorate in biochemistry?” His driver said, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s how I started my research.” He said thoughtlessly, then stopped himself abruptly. “I can show you the paperwork if you don’t believe me.” Bruce said, used to the scepticism at his academic record. The majority of people refused to believe that he actually had achieved what he said he’d achieved, and he was used to pulling proof out for them. “At least, I can when my stuff arrives from New Mexico.”

“I sent a plane. It’ll be here by this evening.”

The car raced around one last, hair raising corner before slamming to a halt, making Bruce jerk forward painfully. “Home, sweet home.” Bruce looked up at the enormous building towering over the city, barely able to make out the STARK logo fixed to the top. The building was iconic, doubling up as Stark Industries’ worldwide headquarters, research and development laboratories and huge expanses of personal living space.

It took Bruce a second to realise that a porter had opened his car door for him, and he scrambled out awkwardly. Another had taken his small travel case from the trunk. Almost as soon as he had stepped on to the pavement, the car pulled away, a driver already in the front seat to park it in Tony’s personal garage.

Bruce felt so lost in this world already and he hadn’t even set foot in the house yet.

“Bruce. Breathe. You look like you’re about to vomit.” Tony slung his arm over Bruce’s shoulder in a perfectly natural, friendly move, and Bruce shirked away from it, as if the touch had burned him. “I…” Tony said, mystified. “What just happened?”

“I… Nothing, I just…” Bruce stammered helplessly for a few seconds before he managed to get his words out. “I haven’t had much, uh… human contact, lately.” He admitted, and Tony laughed.

“Oh man, I know that feeling. It’s amazing; as soon as you reach the age for Auto, no-one will come near you with a ten foot pole. Don’t worry Brucey, it’s natural.” He clapped Bruce on the shoulder playfully, and Bruce only just managed to suppress the urge to flinch.

*

Tony had work to do, which was to be expected, Bruce thought, so he sat awkwardly in Tony’s enormous top floor lounge and tried not to feel a) lost or b) nauseous from the height. He should call Jane, but he wasn’t sure if she would want to hear from him. It was all still too humiliating, too difficult for him to admit that he’d been wrong for so many months.

He should call Jane.

He got as far as finding her name in the contact list—an unimpressive feat given he only had about four contacts. Maybe he shouldn’t call. If he called, she would only worry that something was wrong, and he didn’t want to cause her any more stress. He put his phone away, and stared blankly out at the New York skyline. It was an amazing view, probably one of the best in the city. The cars on the streets below were like tiny ants; Bruce distracted himself by counting every yellow cab, something mundane to keep his mind off of… well, everything.

He got to seventy before his phone rang, and he practically jumped out of his skin. He was in a world of his own, and barely managed to pick it up before it went through to voicemail. “Bruce?” Jane said nervously. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, just say, and I’ll—”

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?” He said, but his words sounded hollow even to his ears. He made the right call to stay off the phone; this just felt weird. “I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk to me.”

“I’m not angry at you, Bruce.” Jane Foster was a notoriously terrible liar, even over the phone, so he knew her words were genuine. It was reassuring, to say the least. “I don’t have a reason to be mad at you.”

He wasn’t sure he agreed, but whatever. “Right. Well, thanks.” He said awkwardly. The question hovered in the air, unasked. Bruce took pity on her; he appreciated that she was trying to be sensitive. “I’m okay, Jane, I promise. I’m fine. It’s different here, but… I’m fine.”

“Where are you living? In the city, or on the outskirts somewhere?”

“In the city. Manhattan.” She made an enthusiastic noise, but she still wouldn’t ask the damn question. “Jane, he seems nice. Really. He’s… you know. Pretty rich, and um… attractive. It could be much worse.”

“Rich? What does he do?” She said curiously. “He’s not one of those slick, evil Wall Street mega capitalists, is he?”

Bruce laughed, a genuine laugh, and that broke the tension. It was easier after that. “No, he… You know Stark Industries?”

“No, Bruce, I actually don’t know _the biggest energy conglomerate in America_. It’s not like the Stark Foundation has funded my lab for the last two years or anything. He works for Stark Industries?”

Oh God. Jane probably knows Tony better than he did. Hell, the whole world probably knew Tony better than he did. Damn his lack of interest in tabloid newspapers.

“Uh… in a sense? He… um… owns Stark Industries.”

There was a clatter, which Bruce assumed was Jane dropping her phone in shock. “He…” She said, barely getting her words out from disbelief. “He owns… Your Match is _Tony Stark_?” He didn’t even need to respond. “Holy shit, Bruce.”

“You’ve met him?”

“A couple of times, yeah. Hit on me once, actually. And he’s friends with Thor. That’s why we got the grant from the Stark Foundation, I guess. I mean, I felt bad about it, like I was using my contacts for charity, but it’s good work, and—”

“Jane.” He said flatly.

“Right, right, sorry. Your Match is Tony Stark.” She said it again, like repeating it would make it any more believable. “But you know he can be a bit, well…”

“He’s an arrogant jerk; I’ve been well informed.” Bruce said with a slight smile. A quiet laugh came from the doorway behind him, and he span around to see Tony standing just inside the door, watching him. “Oh God. Okay. I have to go. I’ll call you soon, I swear. I’ll stay in touch.”

Jane hastily said her goodbyes and Bruce hung up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Tony waved it away, sitting down opposite him and picking up a discarded pamphlet. “It’s fine, Bruce. I wouldn’t begrudge you for believing it.”

“But I should make my own opinion.” He persisted. “It’s wrong of me to believe what other people say without giving you a chan—without getting to know you for myself. Um.”

Tony looked amused as Bruce got more and more flushed. “Don’t sweat it, Banner. They’re probably all right anyway.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that without just repeating hollow sentiments, so he looked through the numerous leaflets and information booklets included in his envelope in silence. Most of it he already knew—he turned thirty without forming his own Match, which made him eligible for SHIELD’s Automatic Matching Programme. He read on for a few pages more, into the politics of Matching, which Bruce was oddly intrigued by.

This wasn’t because of his particular passion for one side of the argument above the other, but more because not once in the entire chapter did the booklet cover the political viewpoint that _maybe_ forcing two strangers to spend the rest of their lives together was completely immoral. Bruce scoffed. To him, the ‘environmental benefits of reducing the number of people living alone’ didn’t make up for the fact that he was sat in a ridiculously nice lounge in New York when he’d have much rather been in his muggy, damp apartment in New Mexico.

Bruce discovered that while he was pretty well-versed in the politics, biochemistry and ethics behind Matching, he didn’t actually know much about the fundamental process itself. He and Tony weren’t even officially Matched yet; they were in a process of Initiation, the booklet said, which would end when they Fulfilled the Match, within sixty days of meeting. Bruce flicked desperately through the pages, trying to find out what that even meant. He couldn’t believe he was actually this clueless about something he’d been researching for _months_.

“Sex.”

Bruce looked up at him in surprise. “I… What?” He said, not following. He knew Tony had a bit of a reputation as a playboy but he was pretty sure it didn’t extend to making random remarks out of the blue.

“The whole Initiation thing. It ends when you have sex.” Tony informed him, dropping the pamphlet he’d been absently flicking through and putting his bare feet on the coffee table. He smelled vaguely of grease and sweat, but Bruce would be lying if he said the smell was totally repulsive.

“But…” Bruce said, looking at the papers again and trying to work out exactly where it _said_ that, because apparently just saying things in English was too easy or something. “But it says sixty days?”

“Right. So you fuck within the first sixty days, or the Match is void and you end up at the bottom of the list for a new Auto.” Tony said casually, making his way over to the fully stocked built in bar on the other side of the room to pour himself a drink. He tilted the bottle towards Bruce, only a dribble left in the bottom and said, “Whiskey?”

Bruce shook his head, still trying to process what he’d just learned, so Tony tilted the bottle to his lips and emptied it himself, before picking up the glass he’d already poured and sitting down opposite Bruce, studying him intently. “So we have to… uh… make the Match official within two months.” Bruce stated, just to ensure that this was actually happening. How the hell did he not know this was a thing that existed?

Bruce knew there wasn’t really a choice. While Auto was immoral and disgusting and unfair, their whole society was built around it as a principle. Prejudices against Unmatched people were high, and made it difficult to do even the most basic things, like going shopping or applying for a job, without dismissive treatment or, in a worst case scenario, harassment. Crime rates against Unmatched individuals are almost double the figure for even Auto Matched ones. In the end, Auto might suck, but the alternative isn’t much better. It was easier for everyone if you just got on with it.

“We should do it tonight.” Bruce blurted. Tony looked at him in surprise, but he raced on. “I mean, it’s going to happen at some point. It might as well be now, right? Get it over with? What’s the point in waiting?”

Tony looked surprised, almost hurt. “What’s the rush?” He asked, trying to sound casual, but something had obviously bothered him. “Most people don’t do it the first night, Bruce, not on Auto.”

“Why not?” Bruce challenged, trying to look like he knew what he was doing, like he wanted this, when even Tony, a man he’d only just met and didn’t know in the slightest, could see through him. “It’s just like a one night stand, right?”

“A one night stand who is not only still there in the morning, but will be for the rest of your life?” Tony replied in the same tone, frowning in concern.

“It’s just sex.” Bruce said, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head telling him that he should listen to Tony, that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they waited a couple of weeks, until they knew each other better. He ignored the voice and went on, goading Tony with the little he knew about him. “If the stories they print about you are true, you’re not exactly a stranger to it, are you?”

A small smile crossed Tony’s face. “I’ve been eligible for Auto for five years, Banner. Of course the stories aren’t true. But we can do it tonight if that’s what you really want.”

Bruce’s heart pounded in his chest and he desperately tried to keep its beating at a reasonable level as he nodded. “It is.” He said, hoping he sounded at least a little sincere. “Now?”

Tony glanced at his oil smeared hands and clothes. “Let me shower first. JARVIS will tell you how to get to my bedroom. I’ll be ten minutes. Help yourself to a snack or a drink or whatever.” Tony drained his drink and wandered off, leaving Bruce shaking with nerves and feeling like he was going to vomit.

“Uh… JARVIS?” He said hopefully to thin air, feeling like a total idiot, when he’d finally gathered the nerve to go and do this.

“Yes, Doctor Banner?” An automated voice replied immediately, making Bruce jump even though he was hoping for the reply.

“Could you, uh… Tell me how to get to Tony’s bedroom, please?”

After some ridiculously detailed instructions—it was an apartment on the top of an (admittedly fancy) office block; there should not be that many instructions—which had to be repeated several times, Bruce made it to the bedroom just as Tony was coming out of the ensuite bathroom, wrapping a fluffy white towel around his waist as he went.

Bruce’s mouth went dry, and not even entirely as a result of the fact that Tony looked undeniably _hot_. He pleaded with himself to stay calm, to just relax for an hour or so. He tried to avert his eyes from the prominent scarring in the centre of Tony’s chest, but the other man saw his gaze flicking down to the damaged tissue and gave Bruce a small smile. “I had some pretty major surgery.” He explained, and Bruce nodded. He might not be a medical doctor, but even he knew that the most major heart surgery wouldn’t leave scarring that severe. It was clear that Tony didn’t want to talk about it though, so Bruce hurriedly changed the topic by unfastening the buttons on his shirt and letting it drop to the ground.

“You’re surprisingly toned. You look good.” Tony remarked, looking up and down Bruce’s chest appreciatively. Bruce accepted the compliment, resisted the temptation to snatch his shirt back off the floor and run from the room. “How do you want to do this?”

“Like blushing virgins? We both get naked on three?” Bruce suggested, his throat dry, and Tony chuckled.

“1, 2, 3.” Tony murmured, and Bruce dropped his pants as Tony let his towel fall to the floor. “Tell me you’re not a blushing virgin, because that would be a waste of some fantastic dick right there.”

“Uh, no. Not a blushing virgin. Just… Haven’t, in a while.” Bruce admitted, lying down on the enormous bed and staring at the ceiling. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, just lying next to each other in (entirely naked) silence. Bruce could see Tony was half-hard, and tried not to think about his totally limp dick. “Can you top, please?” He blurted nervously.

“Of course I can.” Tony said smoothly. He snatched a bottle of lube from the side table and waved it at Bruce. “Do you want to prep yourself or shall I?”

Bruce took the bottle, to Tony’s obvious disappointment, and lay down on his stomach, figuring it was the best way to roughly stretch his ass without having to look anyone in the eye. He bit his pillow as his slicked up index finger pushed through the tight ring of muscle; he hadn’t had anything in his ass in months, and it felt as uncomfortable as he remembered. He felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Trying to block out Tony’s breathing and occasional satisfied humming noise, he added a second finger, trying to get this humiliation over with as quickly as possible.

After a third finger and the unmistakeable sound of Tony beginning to stroke himself watching Bruce fuck his own ass, he rolled over, flushing a deep red as he saw Tony, hard as a rock looking at him with a hungry, lustful look in his eyes. “You ready?” Tony asked slightly breathlessly. He laid a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, surprisingly gently, and it was only then Bruce realised how badly he was shaking.

“N—No.” He whimpered, a tear escaping and streaking down his face. “I’m… I… _Shit._ ” His voice cracked as the broken words slipped through his trembling lips. “I can’t do this. I… I’m sorry.”

Tony, to his credit, instantly took his hand off Bruce and moved away slightly, giving him some space as his barriers broke down and a flood of strangled sobs filled the room. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t look at his Match, couldn’t look at the person who should have been his other half. “I’m sorry.” He choked out again, feeling utterly pathetic in every way.

“Bruce, it’s fine. Don’t apologise.” Tony said quickly. “It’s not your fault.” Bruce wanted to argue the contrary but he couldn’t form any words; he could hardly breathe through his tears.

Tony hovered awkwardly for a while, both of them buried in a deafening silence, before he sent Bruce an apologetic look and slipped out of the room. Bruce supposed he’d gone to find a bathroom. He felt even guiltier than he did before.

Tony was the best chance Bruce had to ending up with a bearable life. He was expecting some awful socially inept creep—someone more like himself—but had ended up with a hot billionaire genius. And granted, Tony wasn’t really the kind of person that Bruce would have picked out himself, but that’s mainly because Bruce knew he wouldn’t have had a chance in hell of pulling someone like Stark without SHIELD’s interference.

But he couldn’t even let Tony fuck him once.

That’s all it would take. One round of most likely ridiculously great sex and he would have secured this life forever, but he had ruined it. Bruce wondered if you were allowed to send Matches back—well, if anyone could manage it with no problems, it would be Tony.

He wiped his face and resolved to track down Tony, wherever he’d gone, and beg him for another chance—he’d probably enjoy it once he’d got past the whole human intimacy thing. Just as he’d sat up however, there was a tentative knock at the door and Tony re-entered, wearing a pair of loose sweatpants and a concerned expression. Bruce quickly pulled the bed sheets back up over his hips, blushing furiously.

“D’you… Wanna get dressed, big guy?” Tony asked in a forced, light voice. “I’ve got something to show you.” That sent Bruce’s mind racing, but he hesitated, looking at where his clothes had been unceremoniously dropped on the floor several feet from the bed. Thankfully, Tony caught on before he had to say it out loud. “I’ll wait outside. Come out whenever you’re ready.”

He stepped out the door and Bruce immediately scrambled to put his clothes back on. In his haste, all the buttons of his shirt were in the wrong holes but he figured he looked like a total mess anyway, and just couldn’t bring himself to care.

Bruce followed Stark to the main lift. Fearing the worst, that he was going to be sent down to the ground floor and taken back to SHIELD in a ridiculously expensive car, he was surprised when they slid to a halt after going down just one floor. The ‘something’ Tony had for Bruce was apparently being kept in a large studio apartment on the floor below Tony’s.

It was less extravagantly furnished than the one above, a little more natural; Bruce presumed a guest floor. Tony stopped in the spacious lounge area and gestured around him. “Tada!”

Bruce couldn’t work out what he was meant to be looking at. “Uh… A couch?” He said awkwardly.

“The apartment, Bruce.” Tony explained, as if it were obvious. “This floor can be yours, if you want it. It has its own lounge, kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, and a pretty decent hi-fi set up.”

Bruce faltered. “You don’t… You don’t want me with you? On your floor?” Bruce said, not _really_ asking at all. It was only to be expected.

Tony laughed at him. “Bruce, _you_ don’t want to be on my floor.”

“That’s not true.” He protested. _Shit_ , he thought. _This was it_.

“Bruce, it’s fine. You pushed yourself too far—even I can see that you need some space right now.” Tony tossed him a set of keys, which Bruce managed to break out of his frozen state to catch. “So you can lock me out if you want to be by yourself.” Tony grinned. “You’re still welcome upstairs whenever you want, just don’t feel obligated to join me if you don’t want to.”

Questions were racing through Bruce’s head, but he could force the words out. They didn’t have a choice—putting it off now was only delaying the inevitable. But he couldn’t do anything but smile weakly until Tony left the room, before collapsing on the ridiculously nice leather couch and sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce pressures himself into having sex with Tony to meet a condition for Matching. Tony realises before they actually have sex that Bruce isn't in to it _at all_ and stops straight away. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and as always I can be found on tumblr [@scibros](http://scibros.tumblr.com) right here :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh you guys are the sweetest. Thanks so much to everyone who has left kudos or a comment. Seriously, if you've kudosed like two of my fics I probably recognise your username and am eternally grateful.

The apartment Tony had given him was unsurprisingly amazing, and Stark didn’t bother him there even once. Most mornings he woke up tempted to go to hole away in there all day, hide from Tony and pretend that this wasn’t happening, but then the rational part of his brain kicked in. As loathe as he was to admit it, he was pretty much sorted for the rest of his life if he was Tony’s Match. Like, if Auto could ever come with privilege, this was it. So he dragged himself out of bed and made his way reluctantly to the penthouse to have coffee with Tony.

It had only been a few days but he was already settling into a routine in his new life. Routines were good. Routines were comforting.

“I’m sorry Dr Banner, but Mr Stark is currently in a meeting. He apologises for his absence this morning and says feel free to explore the tower and help yourself to anything you may need.”

Bruce would actually have preferred to just go back to bed, or at least to his own floor but this was (hopefully) his home for the foreseeable future; he should probably pretend at least to make an effort. “Um, can you tell me if I’m trying to get into anywhere that I shouldn’t be?” He said to nothing, still feeling like a total fool. There was no denying the ingenuity of the system but that didn’t stop it being so unnerving.

“Of course, Dr Banner. The top twelve floors are all living space so much is uninhabited. There is a gym three floors below us if you’re interested in such things?” Bruce laughed quietly—now he was being told to work out by a robot.

“Not particularly, but thank you.” He said.

“Not at all, Dr Banner.” JARVIS responded politely.

“Bruce.” He said. “You don’t have to call me Dr Banner. It’s Bruce. I’m not a huge fan of titles.”

“Of course, Bruce.” The AI said amiably. And with that, and his own personal tour guide, Bruce began to have a snoop around.

He quickly realised that most of the accommodation floors were identical, and unoccupied. The layout was similar to his own apartment, although in his, the wall between the lounge and the second bedroom had been knocked through to give more living space. When the lift stopped a few floors later, the room beyond the doors had obvious signs of being lived in and Bruce, flustered about invading personal privacy, jabbed the buttons go down furiously despite JARVIS’s encouragement to go and say hello. “It’s only Ms Potts.” He said, sounding oddly insistent for a robot. “And I know for a fact that she’s very eager to meet you.” He had no idea who Ms Potts might be or why she lived in the Tower or even why she might want to meet him, and honestly he wasn’t all that interested in finding out. He planned to resist meeting anyone in Tony’s life for as long as possible, and when the inevitable interactions occurred, Tony was going to be there to curb the awkwardness. He wasn’t doing this himself. No way.

The next floor showed signs of life too, but it was different to the others; the huge TV and games and God knows what else room had a full blown home cinema set up and stacks upon stacks of movies on shelves lining the room. “Mr Stark has a lot of friends and hosts many social events.” Jarvis explained as Bruce looked incredulously at the professional size snooker table at the other end. “Would you like a cup of coffee Bruce? I noticed you yawned several times already this morning, and you were deprived of your cup earlier.”

“Oh God, yes.” He said immediately. He barely functioned without a heavy dose of caffeine, and he’d suffered for long enough. Turning to make his way back to towards the elevator, JARVIS stopped him.

“Oh no, sir, there is a kitchen just through that door.” The AI explained, probably thinking that he was being helpful, when really Bruce saw a good opportunity to sneak back to his room, where JARVIS was under strict instructions not to bother him. “Right.” Bruce said reluctantly. He went into the kitchen only to be met with the most horrendously complicated looking coffee machine in the world. “Um…” He had absolutely no idea where to begin. Was asking a semi-sentient AI to hack an espresso machine a waste of resources?

“Let me.” A voice said from behind him and Bruce jumped out of his skin—a real voice, a female voice. “How do you take your coffee?” She was tall and very pretty, dressed in a stylish skirt suit and smiling at him with a bemused expression.

“Oh, um… Black please. No sugar.” She set about making them, leaving Bruce standing feeling utterly useless and really awkward. This was not the plan. “I’m Bruce, by the way. I’m Tony’s—”

“Oh I know exactly who you are.” She beamed and pressed a cup into his hand. “Pepper Potts. CEO of Stark Industries, and long time best friend of Tony Stark. But he’ll deny it if you ever question him.”

Potts? So this was the mysterious Ms Potts in the flesh. Well, that was one question answered at least. “I thought Tony was CEO of Stark Industries.” He said dumbly, not sure what else he could say.

“Nah. The investors lost interest in me about five years back.”

Jesus. Everyone in this building should get a cat bell or something, because they all really loved taking Bruce by surprise. “Tony, _you_ lost interest in the investors.” Pepper argued back but wordlessly started making him a coffee too—black, no sugar, Bruce noted. “Besides you’re more useful where you are.”

“What can I say?” He smirked, taking the coffee gratefully. “I’m _very_ good at my job.”

“Your meeting just end?” She asked and he nodded. “Then I probably shouldn’t keep him waiting. I just left my phone up here this morning and figured Hammer could probably hang on for five minutes or so.”

“Hammer can hang on for as long as is necessary.” Tony added with a smirk. Pepper laughed. Bruce had no idea who Hammer might be, so kept quiet and as out of the way as possible.

Pepper left for her meeting, and the routine was back. Bruce, Tony, coffee, awkwardness… Just like every other morning that week. “Got any plans for today?” Tony asked, like he did yesterday, like he did the day before. God, this was getting really pathetic.

“Yeah.” He said. Tony tried not to look surprised by the turn of events. “My certificates and research papers came through this morning from ho—from New Mexico, so I’m going to go and look for a job.” He flushed slightly at his slip. Like it or not, this was home now.

“Bruce, you don’t need—”

“I’m not a housewife, Tony. I don’t want to be financially dependent on you; it only creates tension. And besides, I’m _bored_. I need to work or I’m going to drive myself insane” He needs a distraction, he thought, but didn’t dare say it out loud. He needed something to get his mind off of Automatic Matching, SHIELD, sex, Tony, _sex._ “I need this.” Tony hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Okay. Cool. You going to be back for dinner?”

“I imagine so.” He said flatly. Like he had anywhere else to be. “I guess I’ll see you later, Tony.”

*

New York City was a hive of activity. People rushed by everywhere, the buildings towered above him and even the cab drivers were terrifying. Bruce nearly got himself run over twice trying to cross a road at a designated crossing. It was a world so far apart from what he was used to, the rural tranquillity of New Mexico, where all he had to worry about was Jane’s horrific driving. And New York was not hiring Auto Matched physicists with barely any reputable references or valid recent research to their name. His type was in abundance here—he didn’t stand out, other than for the wrong reasons. Everything that made him special back home was just average.

He crawled back on to the subway, exhausted and pissed off as he tried to ignore the people around him. Fuck, he hated crowds. And small spaces. And crowds in small spaces. Squashed between a young mother and her screaming child, and a suspicious looking old guy in a trench coat, Bruce closed his eyes and tried to distract himself from the stuffy train carriage, isolating himself from the jostles and the noise. Fortunately, it wasn’t far back to Tony’s place. Hell, next time he’d just walk. Sure, it took longer, but it was way less stressful. He found himself back in the Tower, managing to not get lost and end up on the other side of Manhattan, and the doors opened for him, JARVIS asking him whether he’d been caught in the congestion on Brooklyn Bridge.

“You smell like public transport.” Tony remarked, wrinkling his nose as Bruce collapsed, exhausted, on to a couch. Bruce rubbed his eyes and elected to ignore him, but Tony persisted. “You could have taken a car. It would probably help you find a decent job in this place, you know. Something that gives you some status.”

“I don’t need your help.” Bruce snapped, more aggressively than was really necessary, but he didn’t care. If Tony seriously thought a nice car would be all the credentials he needed to land a job, Bruce would happily take the silver spoon out of Tony’s mouth and stick it up his ass personally. “I can sort my own life out, thanks.”

Tony held his hands up in surrender, which only served to piss Bruce off even more. “I’m just trying to do what I can to help you. Ignore me, whatever.”

Bruce gritted his teeth and swallowed down his pride. “No-one is hiring.” He explained reluctantly. “I have no credentials or papers or research that I can actually show people. I spent most of the last few years working on some crappy theory that never came to anything more than a cabinet of useless nonsensical notes, and now I have nothing to put behind my name, and no prospects. I’m basically screwed. I have three PhDs and I’m going to have to go work flipping burgers or something.” It felt surprisingly good, being able to vent to Tony like this, shift some of his frustration on to someone else, especially since he still held on to the belief that this was Tony’s fault. He’d much rather just carry on working in Jane’s lab on his futile research than be here.

“That’s the Match thing, right? The research you were working on.” Tony remarked casually, taking a swig from a tumbler of whiskey perched on the arm of the couch. “I read your work notes. It’s an interesting, if rather improbable, theory. I highly doubt you’re ever going to get anywhere with it, but I would be interested in seeing it go a bit further. Shake up the status quo a little, at least.”

Bruce’s jaw dropped and his pulse increased rapidly. It shouldn’t have been possible for Tony to get his hands on those files, let alone trace them back to Bruce. “But… That’s—how? Those papers, the notes… It was all published anonymously through public domains. They were totally unconnected to me. I made sure of it!”

“Who do you think manages the science subsidies in this country?”

“... SHIELD?”

“And who do you think pays the subsidies?” Bruce didn't know, but he could take a wild guess. Tony continued, “Yeah, me. Do you not think I'd take an interest in just how my millions of research dollars are being spent?”

“I… I was told it would be confidential.” Bruce said nervously. He was pretty sure his work would have constituted as treason or something, had he ever come close to anything resembling more than evidence that was at best ropey, and at worst complete crap. “If they knew, why did they let me do it?”

“Would have been too suspicious. The government can't go around arresting people for conducting scientific research; it would cause a constitutional crisis. Besides, they were monitoring you. I guess they'd have put a stop to it if you'd uncovered anything that would cause concern.”

Tony was hosting an expression Bruce was familiar with—bemusement really, at his attempt to prove the government were lying about Matches. He'd learnt to ignore it; in his heart, he knew that if he was in their shoes, he'd be just as sceptical.

“You can work here.” Tony said, and Bruce's head snapped up, not expecting to see Tony looking totally serious. “I mean, I have research space and access to basically anything you could ever need either here or stashed away at NYU. It’s candy land. The research facility of your dreams and you don't even need to leave the building. No deadlines, no contracts. Whatever you want, your way.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “That was a hard sell, Stark. What are you, secret second hand car dealer? It's not all about the work. I need some way to earn money. I'm not... I'm not going to be living out of your pocket for the rest of my life.” Bruce was tempted, he honestly was. True freedom was something almost impossible to find in his line of work—it only ever came from working from your own time and money, neither of which he currently had. But relying solely on Tony put a bad taste in his mouth.

“I'd put you on the Stark Industries pay roll.” Tony offered. “Don't look at me like that, the company's bank account isn't related to mine. I just pay myself an obscene amount of money for looking pretty. It would be a real job with real salary and shit. Do whatever you want, though I might request your expertise from time to time. I’ve been looking for a nuclear physics expert for ages.”

Bruce hesitated. He didn't want to have to accept more charity from Tony, a man he had barely met, but on the other hand, the job was just too perfect to give up, and he liked being able to make his knowledge useful. Do some good in the world, at least. “I... I'll...”

“Sure. Think about it.” He said with a wave of his hand. “Though, if it changes anything, we do pay our top research guys a six figure salary, _and_ Stark Industries was voted third in Best Companies To Work For last year.”

Bruce's jaw hit the floor at the figure. Six figures a year was an obscene amount of money if he’d actually been doing a real job; six figures to carry out his own research was ridiculous.

Tony smirked. “Amazing right? We're ambushing the top two next year. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”

“Six... Six figures?” Bruce said in disbelief. “You'd pay me $100,000 a year to do whatever I feel like working on in your state of the art research laboratory?” Bruce was paranoid; he was willing to admit it, and being offered a small fortune for access to something that would usually cost millions? It definitely felt too good to be true. “What's the catch?”

“... Good question. Uh... You'd have to work with me? Word has it that I get super annoying when I’m on to something. Oh, and I sing.” Tony grinned. Bruce laughed, and for the first time since he’d got to New York, it didn’t feel forced. “So you'll take it?”

“I don't know, Stark.” He said, shaking his head slightly, totally unable to help himself. “I'm not sure I could deal with sharing a lab with such an egotistical ass.” Bruce stood up, wanting to take a shower before they reconvened for dinner, which was usually either some posh gourmet crap or something in a flimsy cardboard box from the next block over, depending on Tony's mood.

Life with Tony was strange, Bruce had decided. He’d discovered that the other man shared his weird sleep pattern, and it wasn't uncommon for Bruce to hear the sound of deafening AC/DC coming from the floor above at four in the morning, slightly muffled only by the ceiling. He was also awful at remembering to keep the kitchen stocked with actual food, so Bruce had to make an effort to buy essentials like bread and milk so they wouldn't starve. It was like looking after a six year old on Hallowe’en; all Tony ever bought himself was chocolate bars and jelly sweets.

He was settling in well and he actually liked Tony a lot more than he thought he might, despite his arrogant and self-important attitude. The looming deadline, however, hovered above them—despite his best attempts, he couldn't shake the fact that at some point in the not too distant future, he would have to have sex with the man currently housing, feeding and employing him, just because SHIELD told him to. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to vomit.

His phone—a new upgrade courtesy of his Match, who had been horrified to discover that his old phone didn’t even have internet capabilities—buzzed, and knowing it could only be Tony, he checked it with some trepidation at what couldn't wait ten minutes.

_Change into something nice, we're going out. :)_

Bruce immediately began to panic. He was a scientist and a recluse—he didn't do dressing nice and he very rarely did going out. His clothing selection, even with the majority of his belongings from New Mexico, was pitiful and didn't amount to much more than a handful of shirts and a couple of pairs of slacks. Bruce groaned. He glared at his wardrobe, willing a worn purple shirt and a battered pair of jeans to transform into something perfect for the mystery occasion.

There was nothing for it. He flattened his hair a little, trying to stop his curls sticking up in all directions then tugged on the most suitable thing he could cobble together, and shuffled up to Tony's lounge reluctantly.

“If you want something nicer than this, you’re going to have to give me more warning.” He grumbled, but was pleased to see Tony in nothing more formal—jeans, a band t-shirt and a loose blazer. Bruce envied Tony’s ability to dress like that and not look like an utter tool. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Thought we’d get out of the house and introduce you to some of my friends.” Tony shrugged. “A drink, a burger, whatever. Nothing ridiculous, I swear.”

Tony wanted to introduce him to his friends? Bruce didn’t know what to say. Despite Tony’s insistence, Bruce still knew he was a burden on his life, but he couldn’t help being flattered at the unnecessary effort his Match was putting in to make him feel welcome.

They ended up in a casual sports bar in midtown, relatively quiet, but everyone in there seemed to know Tony. He schmoozed for a minute or so, greeting what, to Bruce, felt like every patron in there by name, lamenting how long it had been since he’d last been in and smoothly avoiding all questions about his personal life and his new companion. He was still very much… _Tony_ , but something about the man in front of him was slightly off. In fact, if anything, the casual mannerisms and light humour were exaggerated.

“Ooooooh, Mr. Stark, can I get your picture?” A well- built man at the bar in dark glasses simpered at Tony, waving an imaginary camera. “Will you sign my ass, Tony?” Bruce tensed, wary of the man mocking amongst all the fans.

“You wish, Barton, I don’t know where it’s been.” Tony said, and the man laughed lightly. Bruce relaxed when Tony sat down next to him, and Bruce hovered by his side, feeling out of place and embarrassed. “Clint, this is Bruce.”

Clint held a hand out to Bruce, and he took it nervously, expecting some bone crushing macho posturing bullshit, but getting a normal, firm shake in response. “I’m Clint Barton. Tasha told me you guys got hitched.”

Tony caught Bruce’s confused expression, and started to explain, but the redhead on Barton’s other side turned around before he could get the words out, and Bruce gasped. “But… Ms. Romanoff? I mean, Natasha, I—But you work for _them_! For SHIELD!” His sharply dressed, highly professional Matching Officer just happened to be friends with his Match? Suddenly, her advice regarding Tony’s personality made a lot more sense.

The three of them laughed, and Bruce considered the option of exiting the bar as quickly as possible, humiliated and completely out of his comfort zone. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who perceives SHIELD as the bad guys, Bruce.” Natasha said, the charming smile on her face only coming across as patronising. He could tell she was trying to be kind, but her dismissal only served to make him feel even more idiotic. “Barton works for them, too. And so did Tony, until a few years ago.”

He looked again at Clint, wondering how any government office job could lead to that many scars and bruises, a flattened nose and ridiculously huge biceps. Clint noticed. “I bring in people who don’t respond to calls for Automatic Matching. It’s not always peaceful.”

Bruce wanted to challenge him, ask him how he honestly thought that bringing people in by force and making them spent the rest of their life with a complete stranger was moral in any way, when another man sat on his other side. “Sorry I’m late, I was Skyping with Bucky.”

Clint snickered. “Have you asked him yet?” The new guy scowled. “Don’t worry, Steve, you’ll grow your balls soon.”

“You know it’s not as simple as that, Barton. I haven’t seen him properly in nearly a month, but he’s coming home next week, so maybe… Well. Anyway. It’s not your concern.” Steve said pointedly, then appeared to notice Bruce for the first time. “Um… Who’s this?”

“That’s—” Barton started, but Natasha smacked him and Tony took over.

“This is Bruce. He’s…”

But even Tony was too embarrassed to get the words out, too ashamed to admit it. Bruce figured he may as well put everyone out of their misery. “I’m Tony’s Match.” He said quietly, hoping no-one else could hear them. From the reaction to Tony entering the place, his reputation had plenty at stake with this crowd.

The word ‘Oh’ formed on Steve’s lips but, unlike other members of the group, he managed to politely hold it back. He even managed a smile, though it barely covered his surprise. “It’s nice to meet you, Bruce. I hope Tony’s treating you well.” Bruce forced out a meek affirmation, and Steve’s interest waned, going back to bickering with Barton.

Everything settled down, with Tony making an effort to involve Bruce in the conversations as it passed from topic to topic, little of which he actually understood. He managed to piece together from the general hubbub of banter swirling around him that Clint was happily Matched, Steve was on the brink of making an Offer to the aforementioned Bucky and that one of their friends was away on business, someone Tony had relentlessly referred to as ‘MC Hammer’. Despite the fact that they lived in a different world to Bruce, Tony’s friends weren’t all bad, although he couldn’t shake the fact that they were all _happy_ with their lot. Like Natasha said, he was the only one who viewed SHIELD as the bad guy.

The evening drew to a close, but before Tony could whisk him away, back to his world of glitz and glamour and expensive lab equipment, Clint grabbed his arm and asked for a word. “We had a bet on, me and Nat. You lost me $50.” He started, a line which, in Bruce’s limited experience, led to a punch to the gut and a kick in the head for good measure. He stammered out an apology, beginning to back away towards the others. He really didn’t want to get into a fight with Tony’s friends, didn’t want to cause him any more problems, and this guy was _built_. He would have had no chance. “Shit, sorry, no, I meant—let me start again. I’ve known Tony for five years, and in that time, I’ve never seen him have any inclination to accept a Match.”

“Look, Clint, is it?” He said, trying his hardest to remain polite. “I don’t want or need a Tony Stark history lesson. He got Matched with me, and we didn’t have much choice in the matter. It is what it is.”

“But Tony’s not like you and me. He has his own way of swaying official SHIELD policy; it’s a money thing. He never would have had to accept a Match if he didn’t want to.” Barton paused, and glanced behind him, before continuing in increasingly hushed tones. “You need to know that this system isn’t as rigid as you might think. If you can pay enough, there’s quite a lot of flexibility. Tony is rich enough to buy out half of SHIELD, and weird enough to be able to remain just about respectable if he died Unmatched.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You might feel like you’ve been forced into this, but Tony _hasn’t_. He chose to go along with this. And now Natasha is going to _kill_ me because she told me not to get involved, but you deserve to know the truth, Bruce.” Clint grimaced as the fierce redhead stormed towards them, looking awe inspiringly furious. “Call me if you need to talk, Banner. I promise you, in my line of work, I’ve heard it all.”

Bruce tried to say thank you, not really sure what conclusion he had drawn from the short exchange, but Natasha had already dragged him away, cursing and swearing in his ear.

“They care about each other deep down.” Tony said, when Bruce had re-joined him, both watching the display with a strange fascination. “Like, sickening amounts, honestly. They just hide it well.”

Bruce smiled half-heartedly. “Thanks for tonight, Tony. It meant a lot. Really.”

“Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaaaaa Tony
> 
> I know a few people have mentioned having a few questions about this universe or how Matching works--feel free to ask in the comments or send me an ask on [ tumblr ](http://scibros.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll happily answer your question (or let you know if it will be answered soon!)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone reading, kudosing, commenting and/or sharing this fic, you are straight up the best. Our ship may be small but it's strong, damn it!

“Excuse me sir, John Garrett wishes to meet with you. I have advised him to make an appointment for a later date, but he _insists_ that it is urgent.”

Bruce jumped so much that he dropped the plate he’d been holding on the floor in shock, sending his lunch crashing to the floor. He still hadn’t got used to the disembodied voice of JARVIS announcing itself at random intervals, and it scared the shit out of him without fail. “Um.” He said, feeling unbelievably stupid as his eyes flicked to the ceiling. He didn’t know what he expected to see; Tony had explained how JARVIS was integrated with the building but he still didn’t really get it, and always expected to be able to see something.

Tony himself wasn’t around, taking the morning to actually go and do the work he was supposed to be doing for the international multi-billion dollar corporation that he owned (Bruce couldn’t process it) but he had no idea where he was, or even which floor. He grabbed his phone from the work top and, after pissing about with the stupid touch screen that hated his fat fingers, managed to dial Tony’s number.

“What’s up, Bruce?” He said brightly. “One sec—no, I said the first quarter reports, not the third. … No, okay, forget it. Go speak to Pepper. She can deal with it.” There was a moment of silence, followed by Tony swearing under his breath, before he returned to Bruce. “Sorry about that. These interns are the bane of my life. Did you need something?”

“You know you should be nice to your interns. They might be useless but at least they’re trying.”

“Is that what you called me for?” Tony asked, sounding amused. “Advice on handling my personnel?”

“Uh, not really, no. JARVIS said something about someone wanting a meeting?” He cursed himself for not remembering the name. Like,  the one thing that would have been useful to tell Tony. “John… someone?”

“Bruce, you do realise I get JARVIS in my office, too.” He said lightly. The sound of the elevator dinging to a halt went off in the background.

He felt really dumb now. “Oh. Right. Yeah, of course you do. Okay. I guess I’ll see you later, then.”

Tony laughed, and hung up. Bruce hunted down a brush and swept up the shattered china and the stray lettuce leaves from the kitchen floor, making a mental note to tell Tony that his stupid robot had made him break something _and_ lose his lunch. Maybe he should just go out for a burger instead. He’d _tried_ to eat healthily, okay. Clearly, the universe didn’t want him to have a salad today.

His phone rang. Knowing it could only really be Tony, Bruce wondered what was so important, and had come up in the four minutes since they last spoke. “He wants to see you, too.” Tony said immediately, not waiting for so much as a hello. He was holding back anger, Bruce could tell; it was obvious this guy, whoever he was, wasn’t exactly welcome. And he wanted to see Bruce. No-one even knew who Bruce _was_. “We’re in the meeting room on the twelfth floor.”

By the time Bruce found them, the two men were sat in a silent exchange of macho posturing. The tension in the room was palpable, and neither of them acknowledged him when he stepped in and shut the door behind himself. “Um. Hi?”

The stranger, Garrett, was first to break the tenuous truce. “You must be Mr Banner. Please, sit.” He gestured at the seat next to Tony, and Bruce sat down nervously.

“It’s _Dr_ Banner.” Tony corrected. Bruce could see his hands clenched into fists under the table. Tony was always so relaxed, so laid back—he’d never seen him worked into as much of a state as this. “And I’d rather you didn’t give orders to people while you’re in my offices, thank you.”

Garrett looked like he was about to snap back in response, but he managed to control himself. It only made Tony more angry. _Jesus,_ Bruce thought. It was exhausting just to be in the same room as them. “Dr Banner, then. I’m John Garrett.” He introduced himself, then paused as if he was waiting for Bruce to have a sudden burst of inspiration and realise who this complete stranger in front of him could be. “John Garrett.” He repeated. Tony tried not to laugh as Bruce continued to look blank. “I’m the Head of the Matching Department for SHIELD.” He said, his tone clearly indicating that Bruce _should_ know who he was, that his name should be up there in Bruce’s mind alongside George Washington and Morgan Freeman.

“Oh. Hello.” He said, trying to pretend that he knew what that meant. “Um, how can I help you?”

Garrett glared from Tony to him and back to Tony. “SHIELD has an exciting opportunity for you, Dr Banner. And Mr Stark, too. It requires but a small amount of your time and you will, of course, be well compensated.”

“Does it look like I need compensation?” Tony smirked, gesturing to the lavishly decorated meeting room and by extension the rest of the frankly ridiculous property smack bang in the middle of Manhattan. “I think, despite being Automatically Matched, I might add, I am doing rather well for myself.”

Garrett continued to smile serenely. “Maybe you are, Mr Stark. But what about Dr Banner here? I know that despite SHIELD’s best efforts to minimise prejudices, it can be difficult to find employment if one is Automatically Matched. Perhaps he needs the financial aid more than you do.”

Bruce didn’t like being talked about rather than talked to. “Thank you for your concern, but I do actually have a job.” He said firmly, determined not to look to Tony for support. “It pays well, and is more than suitable for my needs.”

Garrett looked at Tony knowingly, but Bruce remained resolute. So maybe his job was technically working for Tony, but he wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of confirming that. “Can I use a few more minutes of your valuable time to explain the proposal to you anyway?” He feigned politeness and oozed slime with every word. Bruce shrugged. “At SHIELD, we’re always looking for new ambassadors of our projects—” He began, sounding rehearsed and stale, like he’d given this exact speech tens of times before.

“You want us to be your poster children for Automatic Matching.” It wasn’t a question.

“Well, Stark.” He said. Bruce noted the dropping of Mr. “We prefer the term _ambassadors_.”

“You want us to stand there and pose for photos and meet people and shake hands and rave about how happy we are because of Auto.”

Garrett shrugged. “If you want to think of it that way. Are you not happy?”

Tony’s eyes flicked to Bruce, but he said nothing. Garrett smirked, tallying a point to himself and stood up. “Look, please take some time to consider it.”

Bruce nodded hastily, and shook his hand before Tony had the opportunity to rip it off. Before he stepped out the door, Bruce spoke up. “But it’s not really about me, is it? You want Tony to do it because he’s _famous_. I’m just here for the ride.”

Garrett looked back over his shoulder for a second, then left the room without another word.

“What an asshole.” Bruce said, sinking back into his chair. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

Tony shrugged. “We have our differences, sure.”

“From when you worked with SHIELD?” Bruce said, figuring now was a pretty good opportunity to pry. Tony looked surprised. “It was on your Matching profile.”

“You read that?”

Bruce tutted. “You didn’t? No _wonder_ you don’t know what my favourite colour is. I’m hurt, Stark.”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, I know him from SHIELD.”

“... What did you actually do there?”

Tony paused, and Bruce thought maybe he was going to get a straight answer, but then he smiled. “I’m starving. You eaten?” Bruce shook his head. “Let’s go get pizza. I know this amazing place a few blocks from here—seriously, it’s the best in Manhattan, I swear.”

*

Tony whistled as he worked, if you could call pottering around the lab, poking things and occasionally doing something vaguely productive ‘working’. It was a habit Bruce usually couldn’t stand, but somehow, coming from Tony, it wasn’t quite as annoying. Besides, the laboratories were normally filled with a gentle soothing murmur as people came in and out, exchanging notes and papers, and, Bruce imagined, a fair amount of gossip, some (most) of which involved him. However, Bruce and Tony were alone; even the most diligent staff tended to turn out no later than eight in the evening. They were still going strong at half three the next morning.

Bruce didn’t really know or _want_ to know what Tony was actually up to, just trying to adjust to having company for a change. He’d spent far too many hours working alone in New Mexico, becoming more and more disenfranchised with his work, but now he was freer than he had been in a long time. Working was easier, progress was already improving in just a few days. It was ironic, really, that it might just turn out that the only reason he would ever finish his research on Matching would be _because_ of his Match.

He flicked through the stack of papers, which seemed to have grown in transit between Jane’s lab in New Mexico and Tony’s in New York. There were endless sets of data, piles of reports and personnel files, but the change in location didn’t alter the fact that he just didn’t have enough to even begin extracting any element of the truth from it. He heard footsteps behind him, sensed Tony over his shoulder. “This all your research?” Tony asked curiously, picking up the top sheet and examining it briefly, before throwing it back on the pile. Bruce compulsively straightened it where Tony had put it back carelessly. “You should get it set up on the screens.” He gestured to his crazy advanced, not for public consumption hologram tech with his hand, accidentally throwing two open documents into the virtual trash can, which swallowed them up with a satisfied belch. “…Oops.” He said, shrugging casually as Bruce looked at him over his glasses with pure disbelief. “I guess I’m still working on it.”

Bruce resumed with his work, ignoring Tony’s chicanery. “Then I’m going to stick with paper, thanks.” He said, trying to keep serious, but a small smile betrayed him. Tony sauntered back off to the other end of the lab and disappeared out into the corridor, leaving Bruce alone in a rare moment of calm.

He’d never admit it, but he secretly _enjoyed_ working with Tony. There was something oddly compelling about the man, about the combination of his child-like carefreeness, his wildly inappropriate sense of humour and his vast intellect that Bruce was just drawn to. He could never have claimed to know much about Stark before they met—hell, he barely recognised the guy’s name. But it didn’t take Bruce as long as a day to realise that Tony had so much more about him than other people gave him credit for. He was smart and interesting and, yeah, maybe a little self-absorbed, but Bruce could deal with self-absorbed.

“Hey, I brought you coffee.”

Coffee? Tony Stark… had brought him coffee? Add surprisingly considerate to that list. He looked up, just to make sure his ears weren’t deceiving him, but there it was. One large, steaming mug of viciously black coffee, just how he liked it. “Uh, thanks?” He said awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. He looked at the mug; it was decorated with the periodic table. Figures. He took a mouthful of it, refreshingly harsh and bitter, before realising that drinking coffee at four in the morning really wasn’t the way to adjust one’s body clock. Tony saw him pause, and read him instantly.

“Don’t sweat it. No set hours, Banner. Advantage #198 of working for Stark Industries.” Tony took a swig from his own mug, fingernails tapping an absent rhythm against the ceramic. Bruce noticed it once more, and his mouth twitched, but he didn’t mention it.

“Do you just abhor silence?” He asked about an hour later, as his Match had ran through a good part of two AC/DC albums and had begun to humming Broadway show tunes. He stopped half way through the oddest rendition of Defying Gravity Bruce had ever heard, and frowned.

“Is it bothering you? I’m making a conscious effort not to talk to myself, but apparently it’s that or _Wicked_.” Bruce was surprised that Tony knew Broadway at all; he didn’t exactly seem like the musicals type, even if he did live barely a few blocks away from Theaterland.

“It’s… fine.” Bruce said unconvincingly. Truthfully, it was annoying as fuck, but he wasn’t about to turn around and say that. Bruce was just used to working alone, in silence, particularly at this time of night, so company was kind of a new experience.

“You’re a terrible liar. I’ll keep the singing to a minimum. You want another coffee?” Bruce looked at his empty mug, then to the time display on one of Tony’s holograms, and thought ‘fuck it’. He nodded and Tony swept the mug from him in an impressive display of grace. He wouldn’t usually, but damn, it was good coffee. He wondered absently if the quality of coffee in the labs was on Tony’s advantages list, which he didn’t doubt actually existed somewhere.

Bruce collapsed on to one of the couches in the corner of the room—seriously, what kind of lab had an entire lounge tucked away at one end? —and propped his feet up on the coffee table, unable to shake the thought that this ‘break room’ area, as Tony liked to call it, was larger and about a thousand times more costly than the whole of his old apartment in New Mexico. Everything here was so different, even the work. The limitations on his research were due to lack of a significant scientific breakthrough, instead of lack of time or funds or resources as it had always been back at home. And Tony himself? Well, he was… indescribable. Sharp, biting and sarcastic, but at the same time, generous, caring and funny. He was everything that Bruce was, and everything that Bruce wished he was, and also incredibly, filthily rich. Even Banner had to admit, it was a winning combination.

Tony returned, and pushed another beautifully hot mug of coffee into his hand, before flopping down next to him. Bruce sipped his drink, then said thanks to fill the silence that seemed to follow himself and Tony around like a shadow. He couldn’t help but feel hyper aware of his Match’s proximity; Tony’s leg was so close to his that they were almost touching, which made no sense given that the couch was a three seater, and that there were two more situated around the same coffee table. Bruce tried to shuffle away a little without being too obvious, but the cushions were so soft it was practically impossible to move without standing up.

“So, how’s New York suiting you?” Tony said, yawning slightly.

Bruce shrugged. “It’s bigger. Louder. Dirtier.” Bruce saw Tony’s mouth twitch at his choice of adjectives and he rolled his eyes. His immaturity was truly astonishing to witness. “It’s different.” He said, deciding to play it safe on his second attempt. “Everyone is so busy all the time. No-one ever stops. New Mexico was calmer, quieter. I’m not used to the speed of things here.”

Tony made an approving noise. “I don’t really go out that way all that much. Too hot, my skin can’t handle the sun.” He grinned. “I sometimes used to go over with Howard for conferences and stuff, but not in a while.”

“I met your father once, at a conference in Arizona a few years ago. Were you there too?”  Bruce asked, genuinely curious.

“Phoenix? Uh, I think I was there for a conference in ‘08 maybe?” He stalled for a moment, thinking. “Like I said, I haven’t been in a long time. That was always Howard’s thing, not mine. Though, there was this smoking hot physicist chick at the bar… I don’t remember her name. Wow, I have way too many stories that start with that sentence. Anyway.” Bruce raised his eyebrows, not really liking where this story was going, but Tony blustered on, obliviously arrogant in his story telling. “And she was… I don’t know. Different. I tried to hit on her and she wasn’t having any of it.”

This was the part of Tony that Bruce had begun to worry about. He was so self-absorbed, he took offence when someone _didn’t_ want to sleep with him. Which is why he couldn’t help but wonder why, a week down the line, he was still a welcome guest at Stark Tower. “Was she Matched?” He asked eventually.

Bruce watched as realisation dawned on Tony’s face. “Huh. Maybe she was. I don’t really remember.”

“And exactly _how_ drunk were you?” Bruce asked, taking another mouthful of coffee to hide his disapproving glare. A vague recollection of a guy delivering a lecture through slurs and irrelevant anecdotes about God knows what floated back to him, and he chuckled. Tony looked at him questioningly. “You _were_ there, in 2010 though. I think I went to your presentation. You were the one who was so drunk I was impressed you could even stand up.”

“Huh. Sounds like me, but I don’t remember it.” Tony played it off with a  laugh. “I seem to do that a lot. New Year’s, 1999, I mean… God, that was a night. Anyway, this chick is totally on her lonesome all night, until this crazy guy comes along, not wearing any pants, and starts blubbing on about some descent of the gods or something.” Tony continued to recount his story, each detail getting more and more convoluted and exaggerated until Bruce held up a hand to stop him.

“Jane Foster.” He said with a snort. “That super-hot physicist chick? Her name is Jane Foster. And Erik was just going through a rough patch, which apparently involved much public nudity. Jane runs the lab I used to work at. Incidentally, she has been Matched for seven years, and the guy is built like a brick wall.”

Tony blinked in surprise. “ _That_ was Jane Foster?” He said, blowing out a lungful of air. “Well, that makes more sense. Did _not_ recognise her. Oops.”

“Oops?”

“I know her Match. He’s a friend.” He said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. Bruce knew Thor too, kind of, but he wouldn’t say they were friends. They’d only met a handful of times but shit, that guy was terrifying. Perfectly friendly, Bruce admitted, but scary as hell.  “But hey, I mean, if she was with Thor, it’s hardly surprising she wasn’t having any of this. She was the first person to turn me down since I was eleven, you know? Though, that was before…”  He trailed off, but Bruce was aware enough to finish that sentence off—before he became eligible for Auto.

He couldn’t get his head around the different layers of Tony Stark. One minute he was being snarky and sarcastic, the next upbeat and cheerful, and then, serious and forlorn without a second’s break. It shouldn’t have surprised him that there would be more to him than what the newspapers printed, but he couldn’t believe there was _this much_ more.

His behaviour at the bar that night made more and more sense the more time Bruce spent around him. The moment someone from outside Tony’s life stepped in, his Match tensed up. His biting remarks and egotistic bullshit sky-rocketed, and he hid his compassion and care for anything but himself under a rock. Bruce didn’t question it though, he knew it wasn’t his place, and besides, he did the same in his own way.

“Hey, can I ask you a kind of personal question?” And he was back, chirpy playful Tony, and Bruce nodded, only slightly worried. “What are you actually researching?”

He frowned, looked over to his data stacked in tall piles on his new desk. “I thought you said you’d read my reports.” He said curiously.

“Well, I have but, no offense, they’re kind of super boring. And vague. And I was slightly incredibly intoxicated at the time. Anyway, I’d much rather hear it from you first hand.”

Bruce wasn’t sure whether he should be complimented or insulted by that. He sighed, trying to come up with the right explanation, a way to describe it without alienating people from the first word. “So you remember what you were taught about Matching when you were a kid, right?” He started, and Tony nodded.

“It’s human nature hooking up strategically. Evolutionary advantages, best possible next generation, blah blah blah.” He supplied helpfully, and while heavily paraphrased, it was pretty much right.

“Exactly.” Bruce agreed. “And that’s all well and good, but if that’s the case, why do the government get involved? That’s where this started—not in the science, but in the ethics. If it’s biological, why do we have to register and sign little bits of paper under the state? Why is it anyone’s business?”

Tony paused, then fulfilled all of Bruce’s expectations by giving an answer straight from a fifth grader’s textbook. “Because your Match is like your soul mate, and the government has to authenticate it. Someone has to make sure people aren’t exploiting the system after all.”

Bruce groaned. “For fuck’s sake, Tony. You’re a smart guy, and you fucking _worked_ for SHIELD. How do _they_ know whether your proposed Match is _your_ Match?”

“Blood tests. There’s an increase in the release of the hormone animaphiline that is detectable in your blood, triggered by both physical and emotional proximity.”

God, smart as a whip, this one. Bruce resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. “Yeah, these _blood tests_ that no-one has ever confirmed are even real. They take blood and they ‘analyse’ it and give you back the results to tell you that you’ve passed. Because there’s no way in Hell that could be illegitimate. There’s no way some corrupt government pencil pusher could just fake the whole procedure.” He didn’t mean to get so sarcastic, and he knew it wasn’t Tony’s fault, but it frustrated him to no end that no-one else could see what he thought was bloody obvious.

Tony looked sheepish, and for a split second, Bruce thought he’d won someone over. “The blood tests are legitimate, Bruce. Animaphiline levels are sky high in people that are Matched.” He said, and he sounded almost sorry for the fact. “That was… That was my job at SHIELD, one of my jobs. I, uh… I worked with Garrett on it. He commissioned the upgraded tech a decade or so ago, and I built them. I was in charge of the science division, ran the labs in the New York Matching Office for twelve years. Everyone got scanned. Not everyone passed.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say. They’d sat in a room with Garrett just that afternoon and Tony had neglected to mention this. He sunk back into the stupid couch cushions and Tony put down his coffee, reaching to hug him or pat him comfortingly on the shoulder or something. “Don’t touch me.” Bruce spat, instantly regretted sounding so aggressive, but he was humiliated and he hated it. Tony shuffled away, gave his some space, and kept his hands to himself. “I spoke to a lot of people.” He said when he could risk opening his mouth without screaming. “Never spoke to anyone who had failed their blood test, or knew anyone who failed their blood test, or even heard a fucking urban legend about someone who failed their blood test. It doesn’t happen.”

“It’s rare.” Tony conceded. “Very rare. And all us _corrupt government pencil pushers_ aren’t supposed to talk about it. It’s mainly pairs of twenty nine year olds faking a Match when they have nothing else to lose. It’s not pretty and SHIELD don’t like to advertise it.”

“Nothing else to lose?” Bruce repeated. “Nothing else to lose? Seriously?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Because this situation isn’t shitty enough without you being a total asshole about it? Fuck you.” Tony spluttered, trying to make up for his words, but Bruce was in a fucking shit mood and this was only adding to it. “And you know what? Just because you get to bend the rules and pick me out of some catalogue of losers doesn’t mean I have to feel grateful for it, so you can drop the nice guy act.”

“Who told y—Clint.” He answered the question himself. “Look, Bruce, it really wasn’t like that.”

“Don’t want to hear it, Stark.” He said, squeezing his eyes tight to stop the tears threatening to spill. “I’m going to bed.” He stood up without another word and jabbed the up button on the elevator. The doors opened almost immediately and he stepped in, calling the floor number for JARVIS and not turning around until the doors had closed and Tony could no longer see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading and being so fabulous, everyone. Shoutout to kelspots who asked a really interesting question last week about what happens if your Match dies... Go check it out in last chapter's comments if you're interested!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr [here](http://scibros.tumbr.com) to have a rant or ask questions or scream about the possibility that Mark Ruffalo might actually be in Civil War after all (nice one Anthony u totally nailed that whole secrecy thing well done)
> 
> Until next week, my lovelies <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Happy Wednesday! Thanks for the questions people have been firing my way; if my answer is vague/I don't give an answer right away, it might be because a) I honestly hadn't considered it and don't know and I'm sorry or b) the answer is in the fic somewhere and I don't want to ruin the build up! If you're interested, check out the comments section. Thanks again, guys! You are the best.

The coffee, unsurprisingly, turned out to be a terrible idea, and no matter how hard he tried, Bruce couldn’t get to sleep. He lay still, staring up at the ceiling for hours, watched the sun rise over Manhattan from his bedroom window, and never heard Tony go up to bed. As his rage cooled off a little, even Bruce could admit that his reaction was excessive, that Tony wasn’t trying to hurt him. He eventually got to sleep at about eight thirty in the morning, rueing the major fuck up of his body clock, but needing the sleep if he was going to get anything done that day.

His plan was ruined by his phone ringing barely after midday, and since Bruce still only had about four contacts, there was little doubt as to who it was. “Bruce, can you let me in? I made breakfast. Late breakfast. More of an early lunch, really. And I got you some of that weird tea you said you liked, and—” Bruce groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly, before zapping the little button that gave the elevator access to his floor. “Thanks!”

Within fifteen seconds, Tony was in his room with, as promised, a tray of eggs and toast and chai tea and fresh fruit and coffee, and Bruce was just wearing boxers, only half covered by the tatty blanket he insisted on bringing with him from New Mexico. “Get. Out.” He said angrily, and to his credit, Tony did, retreating into the lounge and kitchen area. Bruce rolled from under the blanket, grabbed a holey jumper and the slacks he was wearing yesterday and pulling them on, not giving a shit how bad he looked. He knew he had giant puffy bags under his eyes and his hair was a state and he did not care in the slightest. He braced himself for Tony, then pushed open the door.

“I made breakfast!” He beamed, as if that overwrote the fact that barely eight hours ago, Bruce had yelled at him for pretty much no reason and thrown all of Tony’s kindness back in his face.

“Uh, thanks.” He knew he should apologise but the words stuck in his throat. From the way Tony was acting it seemed like he was more of a ‘forget and move on’ kind of guy than someone inclined to dwell over the past, so he didn’t bother. They ate in awkward silence—the egg was over cooked and the toast burned, but he did appreciate the effort Tony had gone to. Despite everything, despite the stupid circumstances they found themselves in, that would always hold true; Tony had gone unbelievably far out of his way to make him feel welcome, and Bruce really did appreciate it.

“You coming down to the lab today?” Tony asked, trying to sound casual, like he didn’t give a monkey’s fart if he were there or not, but Bruce had spent years learning to read people, and he could tell that Tony felt guilty.

_Let him stew_ , Bruce thought, with only a slight malicious intent. “No, I think I’m going to go out today. See the city a little bit. I haven’t got to see much more than this building since I moved here.” He said, only half lying—he really hadn’t seen much of New York and he wanted to—but he had other plans for today. Tony totally failed at hiding his disappointment.

“Oh. Okay. Do you want to go out for dinner later?” He tried again optimistically, but Bruce was having fun with this, and besides, his plans couldn’t wait. They might not be floating around New York like a tourist, but what Tony didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll sort myself out with something.” And soon, he hoped, because forcing down a few mouthfuls of a frankly terrible breakfast wasn’t going to account for the serious sleep deprivation he was suffering, and it was always worse when he was hungry.

Tony nodded, and, after giving up on the cooked food as a bad job, grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and bit it open before peeling down the skin. Because of course Tony was one of those people who felt the need to practically fellate the fruit before eating it. Bruce looked away, stared out the window at Manhattan bustling forty floors below.

“Well, have fun in the city.” Tony said eventually, standing and picking up the well-intentioned breakfast tray. “If you need me, just call and JARVIS will patch you through to wherever I am.”

Bruce was pretty sure he could manage spending a day in the city by himself, but he nodded and hollowly thanked Tony anyway, watching his retreating figure until the elevator doors snapped closed and he whirred back upstairs.

“JARVIS?” He called out tentatively, still uncomfortable with talking to mid-air.

“Yes, Bruce?”

“Could you get me the mobile number of Clint Barton from Tony’s personal records?” He asked hopefully. “And if possible, not tell Tony that I requested it?”

JARVIS chuckled, as much as semi-sentient AI interfaces can chuckle, and the number appeared on the screen of Bruce’s phone. “Our little secret.” He wasn’t sure if it actually was their little secret, but Bruce trusted JARVIS just as much as he trusted Tony (that is to say, not much) so in the end he figured it didn’t make much difference.

He dialled, and Barton picked up after three rings. “Who is this?” He asked suspiciously, not bothering with an introduction or anything even remotely civil.

“My name is Bruce Banner, I—”

“Who?”

Bruce bit his lip, wondering if this was a bad idea, but pressed on regardless. “My name is Bruce Banner. I work with Ton—Mr. Stark.”

Clint paused. “Banner…Oh! You’re his Match, right? You should have said. What’s up?”

“Technically we’re not Matched yet.” He said, unable to help himself. “I just… I wondered if we could meet up, for lunch or something. As soon as possible.”

“This isn’t about Tony’s character reference on his profile, is it? Because the criminal record was kind of exaggerated and the property damage _really_ wasn’t as bad as I like to make out. And the geese got safely relocated, so… no harm, no foul. No pun intended.”

“It’s not about that.” He confirmed, though a small part of him was still completely interested in hearing the full extent of that story. “Can you meet me today? Now?”

Barton paused for a moment. “Well, it’s better than doing paperwork, I guess. Sure.” He gave Bruce an address just a few blocks away. “Be there in fifteen minutes.” That just about gave him enough time to shower and get dressed into something that wasn’t more loose threads than actual clothes.

Clint was already there when Bruce arrived. The place he’d picked turned out to be a generic Italian place, which relieved Bruce to no end, because he couldn’t be doing with any more fancy meals that cost $100 and consisted of barely one mouthful of chicken. He had an appetite, damn it. Bruce slid in to a booth opposite him, glad that Barton had picked somewhere tucked away from the rest of the restaurant. The bulging biceps and multitude of scars seemed even more intimidating one on one.

“So if this isn’t about Tony, what is it about?” Clint asked, as soon as the waitress had taken their order.

“It’s about SHIELD.” He said bluntly. “It’s about SHIELD and Matching and what exactly it is you do for them.”

If Barton was surprised, he hid it pretty well. “I’ll answer what I can answer without revealing any top secret government information.”

Bruce wondered if this guy was for real. What the fuck kind of world did he get dumped into? “Fair.” He admitted. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“Thank me if I can help you.”

He nodded. “You said you bring people in who don’t co-operate. What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Banner, it’s pretty self explanatory.”

Bruce paused for a second, trying to figure out the best way to word what he meant. He didn’t want to sound accusatory and he didn’t want to start a fight, but he needed answers, he needed more information in light of what Tony had told him the previous night. “You bring in people who don’t respond to calls for Auto, right?” Barton nodded, looking disinterested, but Bruce pressed on. “And that, uh… isn’t always peaceful, judging by… this?” He said, gesturing awkwardly at the _this_ , the hard lines of muscle and scarring trapped into a stupidly tight fitting suit jacket.

“You’re not going to hark on about immorality and freedom and justice or something, are you?” He asked wearily. “Because we get this lecture a lot, and I hate to break it to you buddy, but you don’t understand everything. It’s a complex issue and this is the best solution we have.”

Bruce wanted to get defensive, wanted desperately to hark on about immorality and freedom and justice, but that wasn’t why he was here and he didn’t intend to alienate Tony’s friends before he could get anything useful out of them. “I know I don’t know everything. That’s why I’m asking.” He said, getting a little irritated at Barton’s tone. “Is it just Unmatched people you deal with?”

He shrugged, taking an obnoxious slurp of soda before answering. “Mainly Unmatched, yeah. Occasionally it’s people who didn’t Fulfil the Match in the sixty days, but that’s very rare.”

Bruce winced, not wanting to be reminded that he and Tony were yet to Fulfil, that at some point in the near future… He pushed it aside. “So, what, you get given people to hunt down by SHIELD and you do it, no questions asked? Do you get evidence that they’ve broken the law?”

“I’m at security Level 8. Only Level 9 and 10 can get access to anyone’s files whenever they want.”

“So you just take them at their word?”

“Yes.” He said bluntly with a roll of his eyes. “Because that’s my job, Bruce. SHIELD are the good guys. We bring people in as peacefully as the circumstances allow, and make the transition through Auto as easy for them as we possibly can. What more can you ask for?”

Bruce knew he was getting on Clint’s bad side, and forced himself to remember that this wasn’t about preaching his views, no matter how much he wanted to. He backed off, redirected the conversation into safer waters. “Do you know much about how they test Auto candidates?”   

“Not much.” He admitted. “I’m not much of a scientist. Tony’s the person you want to ask about that kind of thing.”

“I’m asking you.” Bruce said quietly.

“All I can tell you is that it shows up in the bloodwork.” He said with a shrug. “I told you, I’m no scientist. You really should ask Tony about this. It was his job, after all.”

Bruce nodded slowly, then paused as Clint’s words sank in. “But I thought Tony did the bloodwork for people registering their Matches.”

“He designs everything for SHIELD, or at least, he used to, before he found better things to do. His team dealt with all the technical science stuff. He was pretty much Garrett’s second in command on the Auto side of operations. Kind of ironic, really.”

Bruce knew he had no right to be pissed about whatever work Tony did for SHIELD five years ago, but it irked him immeasurably that his Match was so caught up in all of this. His response was cut off by the waitress placing a bowl of pasta in front of him, and a large bloody steak in front of Barton. “How can you eat that this early?” Bruce wondered aloud, looking at the size of it in disbelief.

“Strict diet plan. High protein, low carbs—for muscle mass.” Barton explained, before fitting an impressive forkful into his mouth. “Good excuse for steak. Although I’ve got to say it’s not the same without the fries.” Bruce began to eat his meal with slightly less ferocity—only slightly, because he was fucking starving. “Now, I thought you didn’t want to talk about Tony.”

“I didn’t. I was wondering how the Auto process is different to the normal, registered Matching programme. I could ask Tony, but as far as I know, he’s never registered a Match.” Navigating this conversation was like crossing a minefield—he didn’t want to intrude, or say anything that might arouse suspicion as to his motives, but if Tony was right and Matching actually _was_ legit, he needed to separate the truth from the lies and refocus his research.

“There’s not that much to explain, Banner. You propose a Match, you go to the Match Registry and get it confirmed, and you sign the paperwork. It’s kind of… unromantic, but most people have a ceremony or a party or something afterwards. That’s the real event; the paperwork is just for government purposes.”

“But… Tony said it’s really rare that people’s Matches get rejected at the offices.” Bruce was missing something here, he must be, because this didn’t add up in the slightest. “How can it be that rare if people just show up? What if you’ve planned a ceremony and it turns out the other person’s not your Match?”

Clint rolled his eyes. “You really don’t know anything about this, do you?”

“I’ve never been Matched.” He reminded him, trying not to take offence at his patronising tone.

“The connection manifests itself physically when you meet your Match.” He paused again for more steak; despite his hunger, Bruce’s pasta had been neglected for the conversation. “It’s different, depending on the person. Sometimes it’s a rush of—I don’t know, warmth, I guess?—when you first touch, or a recurring dream, or a sudden urge to rip off each other’s clothes and fuck like rabbits. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s impossible to miss. People know when they’ve met their Match.”

“What was it for you and Natasha?” Bruce asked, curious in spite of himself.

Clint choked on the meat he was chewing. “ _What?_ ” He asked, still wheezing a little. Bruce panicked that he’d broken some social code that he didn’t know existed or something, been too nosy, pushed Barton too far. “You think… You thought Natasha was my Match?”

Bruce was taken aback. “… She’s not?”

“God, no. She’s probably my best friend, but no, nothing more. We just work together a lot because we deal with the same cases.”

Bruce took that as to mean that it would have been Clint sent after him if he’d decided to go on the run, and was suddenly very glad he didn’t. He suspected he wouldn’t have got very far. “But you are Matched, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been Matched for eight years. I met Phil at work, in Operations. He was my boss at the time, before I transferred over to the Matching department. I shook his hand on my first day on the job, and we’ve been together ever since.” Bruce rolled his eyes; Clint looked a little affronted. “What?”

“Isn’t the whole workplace romance thing a little clichéd?”

“Not really. I wasn’t ever planning to join SHIELD. I never would have believed I stood a chance. There are a lot of versions of my life where I could have ended up dead in an alley in Brooklyn, but I didn’t.”

“And you think that’s because—”

“Because I was destined to meet Phil? Yeah. I do.” Clint’s tone changed abruptly, and Bruce realised he was going too far. He didn’t want to offend anyone, even if he found the whole thing questionable.

He tried to get back to his original question. “So what was it like?” Clint didn’t answer, looked down at his hands, and Bruce was about ready to give up on this conversation. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to—”

“The only thing I can compare it with is being shot.” He said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. The bravado and the arrogance had evaporated, his sincerity tangible even to Bruce, though he was a little concerned how Clint had ‘being shot’ on a list of viable comparisons. “Like being shot, but without the pain. Everything went into overdrive and I was surging with adrenaline and there were four interns staring at me like I’d gone crazy.”

But Bruce couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t imagine experiencing such a connection. He was never going to have that. “So... love at first sight?” He asked, trying to at least fit it into a frame of reference that he could get his head around.

“If you want to think of it like that.”

Bruce didn't say anything more as he tried to get his thoughts in order, tried to work out how he could apply this new information to his research. The waitress cleared their plates and brought the check, and he was vaguely aware of Barton texting on the other side of the table.

“I have to go, Banner.” He said as he dropped a couple of notes on the table. “It's been, uh... interesting.”

He nodded—more interesting for him than Clint, he suspected. “Thanks for your help.”

Clint started to walk away, but then turned back at the last moment. “Just as a warning, Banner—if you're planning to ask other people the kind of stuff you asked me, expect a more hostile audience. I've known Tony for years and I'm well used to his shit, so maybe I'm a little lenient. But people get defensive about their Matches, and won't appreciate you coming in and trying to shit all over it.”

*

Tony was in the lounge when Bruce got back to the tower, a heavy and boring looking document in one hand and a whiskey in the other. “Fun afternoon?” Tony called, sounding incredibly falsely positive. Bruce shrugged silently, sitting down opposite Tony and kicking off his shoes. Tony dropped the file on to the table—the SHIELD logo was emblazoned across the front. Tony saw him looking and slid it under a property magazine. “Did you go to Times Square? It's the best place in the city to photobomb tourists.”

Bruce laughed hollowly, hoping that would be sufficient to get Tony off his back. The less he knew, the better. “Yeah I did, but some trash New Yorker kept photobombing my selfies so I went to Central Park.” That bit wasn't a lie, to be fair; he spent a large portion of the day wandering aimlessly, and the rest of it trying to find his way out again. It helped him clear his head; once he’d found a spot free of tourists, it was the quietest the city had been.

“Anything else?” He asked, still smiling, but Tony had all the subtlety of an armoured tank. “Go out to lunch with anyone, perhaps?”

“And there was me thinking that was none of your business.” He said with feigned pleasantries, before standing up. “Bye, Tony.”

“Bruce, come on. He told me what you guys were talking about. I... I want to help you.”

Bruce paused, looked at Tony, and sat down again.  He could at least hear him out; it wasn’t like he was in a position to turn down help. “Talk.”

“I worked for SHIELD for a long time, helped redevelop their Matching protocols. You need better information, right? Well, I know pretty much all there is to know, and what I don’t know, I can find out a lot easier than you would be able to.”

Bruce was confused as to why Tony was offering to help when even he could see that there were so many flaws he might as well give up. “Why?” He asked brusquely. “You don’t believe there’s anything illicit going on.”

Tony shrugged. “You’re smart, Bruce. Real smart. Way too smart to have made all of this up in your head.” Bruce blushed a little, unable to remember the last time someone actually complimented him, let alone trusted him, instead of merely telling him that he was wasting his time.

“So you’re… You’re offering to spy on SHIELD for me?” He said dubiously. Tony shrugged. “But why? I thought you were on _their_ side.”

Tony’s eyes darkened, and he gave a bitter laugh. “I started working for them when I was eighteen years old. I worked there for twelve years. You do the math.”

Bruce frowned. “They fired you?”

Tony nodded, and he didn’t bother hiding his disgust. He’d never considered how being on Auto might have affected Tony—sure, being rich and successful probably saved him from a lot of the crap normal Unmatched people had to deal with, but there was prejudice in every level of society. “Unofficial policy—I wasn’t the only one. Trust me, there’s no love lost between me and SHIELD.”

Bruce looked pointedly at the stack of files on the coffee table between them, and Tony rolled his eyes. “Go ahead; read it.”

He picked it up with distaste, flicked open the glossy cover. “What does this… I have no idea what any of this means.” He admitted, much to his chagrin, after reading through the first couple of paragraphs. Everything seemed to be an acronym, and what wasn’t a jumble of bizarre letters was a confusing mulch of biochemistry, ethics and engineering.

“It’s the proposal I wrote and put forward for the new equipment to improve data recordings from monitoring animaphiline levels in Match bloodwork. Well, I say _I wrote_. What I really mean is someone on my team wrote it down after I came up with all the smart stuff.”

Bruce snorted, unable to imagine for one second Tony doing something as menial as writing his own report, and dropped the file back on to the table. “So what?”

“So I’ve built it before, I can built it again. What JARVIS doesn’t have saved on my system is in this file. We can get our hands on one of those machines without SHIELD having a clue, and run some tests of our own.”

Bruce grinned, unable to help himself. In all the years he’d been working on this, no-one had ever been on his side. Now he has Tony Stark—a genius, a billionaire and a SHIELD insider—willing to help him uncover the truth.

“You’re welcome.” Stark said smugly, getting to his feet and systematically cracking about eight different joints. “Now, let’s get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few more answers to some questions about how Matching works, and shit starting to get reaaaal. Woop. Thanks so much for reading! As always I am on tumblr [ here](http://scibros.tumblr.com)!


	6. Chapter 6

“You are aware that _I_ am the one leading this project, yes?” Bruce was exasperated, tired, and in total disbelief that anyone could be this enthusiastic about welding and measuring and constructing impossibly intricate bits of metalwork, but Tony was practically getting off on it.

“Hmm?” He said without taking his eyes off of JARVIS’ progress report installing new software into the machine he’d built overnight. “Whatever. You’re the brains and I’m the hands.”

“You haven’t left this lab in thirty four hours. If you don’t go to bed now, I will knock you out just to force you to stop working and get some rest.”

“Not tired.” He said dismissively. “Pass me that screwdriver.” And to be fair, when Tony looked up at him, he seemed more alert and more engaged and happier than Bruce had seen him before. “I don’t tend to sleep during projects.” He explained, but Bruce was unconvinced. Tony hadn’t even had that much coffee—far less than he had, by any means, and he’d still had to traipse off for a few hours to steal some sleep.

Bruce had never felt so useless in an academic setting. With all required modesty, Bruce was used to knowing exactly what was going on around him, being able to contribute even when it wasn’t really his area of expertise, but this was a whole new level. Tony was doing God knows what, a blend of theoretical physics and engineering and pure ingenuity that was completely unlike anything Bruce had seen before. He was humming as he worked, some rock shit that Bruce only recognised from hearing it in the tower, but it was more soothing than irritating for a change.

Everything felt different. They were doing _something_. For almost the first time in the history of Bruce’s research, something was actually moving forward. He wouldn’t go as far as to call it progress—nothing had come of it yet, after all—but it was better than staring at incomplete data night after night.

“Thank you.” He blurted, and Tony raised an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing the thanks wasn’t for the tuneless Black Sabbath?”

“For helping.” Bruce said quietly, meeting his eye. “I would never have even got _this_ far without… without you. If there’s anything I can do to repay you, please, I—”

Tony put down the tiny drill he was using with terrifying precision, and took a seat on his favourite workshop couch, gesturing for Bruce to join him. Bruce sat down next to him, unuttered words hovering in the air between them. “You don’t owe me anything, you know that, right?” Tony said, eventually breaking the silence.

Bruce was taken aback slightly, the default response already on the tip of his tongue, when he paused. It would be easy to just say “of course” and for everyone to get on with their lives, but it was almost entirely a lie. “That’s kind of bullshit.” Bruce said brusquely, meeting Tony’s gaze. “Even forgetting the fact that you’ve housed me and fed me for the last two weeks and forgetting the frankly stupid fake job, you’ve made space for me in your life and made an effort to make me feel welcome.” Tony tried to say something but Bruce silenced him with a look. “Even… Even with the whole sex thing, you gave me my own space and haven’t pushed it. And now you’re risking God knows what to help me with some stupid project. I owe you a _lot,_ Stark, and there’s no point pretending otherwise. You could have made this hell for me, and it’s… well, it’s only been mildly unpleasant.”

Tony smirked, clearly taking that as some kind of twisted compliment. “Whatever you say. Banner.” Bruce expected him to get up, carry on working, but he didn’t. They just sat next to each other in silence. And while Tony seemed perfectly at ease, Bruce felt like he was burning where Tony’s leg was touching his. Part of him wanted to jerk away, but that would be weird, so he just sat there, on edge and heart racing for God knows what reason. “You’re thinking about sex, aren’t you?” Tony said, an eyebrow raised. Bruce looked at him, questioning, and he shrugged. “You look nervous as fuck and I can practically hear your heartbeat.” Bruce nodded, because freaking out about sex was far more rational than freaking out about their legs being in contact with each other.  “Six weeks is a long time, Banner.” Tony said, but his attempt at reassurance fell flat, because six weeks was not a fucking long time, not in the slightest.

“Forty five days.” Bruce corrected, unable to think of anything else to say, and his internal countdown in the back of his mind every second of the day.

“Even better. We’ll be okay.” Tony said, sounding a lot more confident than Bruce felt. “And if you don’t want to —”

“No.” Bruce said firmly. “Trust me, that’s not an option. I’m… I’ll be fine, I just need a couple more weeks.” He wasn’t going through this shit again, no way. Tony was rich, intelligent, not a total asshole and, if Bruce was going to be 100% honest, kind of very attractive. They got on well, they had a lot in common… if this is what Auto was like, he couldn’t imagine what an actual soulmate Match must involve. 

“Why do you think we’re like this?” Bruce asked quietly.

“Like what?”

“Unmatched.”

Tony let out a short laugh. “Too much work and not enough play makes Tony a dull boy.” He grinned. “Can’t say no-one warned me.”

Bruce snorted. “So I might be a little reclusive but I didn’t live under a rock, Stark. We got tabloids in New Mexico. I am very aware of all the fun you got up to. But from what Clint said, if what he believes is true… It’s like destiny, right? You’ll find yourself in the right place at the right time to meet your Match because that’s the _point_.”

“Well, yes. But that’s why I’m starting to agree with you. Something stinks of bullshit because none of this adds up. If everyone was fated to meet their Match, there wouldn’t be people like us. We’re like this because destiny isn’t real and we were unlucky enough to not meet our Matches in the first thirty years of existence.”

“Or _maybe_ –”

Tony rolled his eyes, kicked his feet up on to the coffee table. “I thought that’s what you believed? I thought that is what we’re trying to prove.”

“It’s not about beliefs, Tony, or politics. I just want to know the truth.” He snapped, harsher than he meant to but he couldn’t bring himself to apologise. That was one thing about Tony he would never see eye to eye on—Stark was so corporate, such a businessman, that everything had a defined purpose _._ The pursuit of knowledge for knowledge’s sake had been categorically abandoned in a run down lab in New Mexico. There was no space for it here. “What if we just never had Matches in the first place?”

Tony paused for a second. “It seems unlikely.”

“But it would show up in the bloodwork, right?” He persisted. To be brutally honest, he wasn’t convinced he was on to anything, but it was a new avenue to consider, at least. One more thing to cross off their list, an infinity of things left to try.

“Software upload complete.” JARVIS’ voice rang out across the empty lab, making Bruce jump.

Tony gave him a quick grin, and jumped to his feet. “I guess we’ll find out soon.”

*

“What the hell is this?” Bruce said in total disbelief, waving his phone in Tony’s face. It was well into the afternoon but Bruce had only just woken up, his body clock totally fucked up by his determination to stay up late putting the finishing touches to the prototype blood testing equipment. “You’re fucking with me, right?” Tony infuriated him even more by giving a careless shrug. “We need people to _co-operate,_ Tony. Do you understand what I’m saying? People who are Automatically Matched are hardly going to be eager to help us anyway, and then you put this out?” He read a few choice phrases from the Stark Industries press release with severe distaste. “‘Ground-breaking research into what makes the Automatically Matched different to everyone else’? You’re fucking with me, right? You do realise that includes you? This is the kind of thing that sparks riots, Stark.”

“Bruce—” He said, looking not at all remorseful as he held a hand out to calm him down.

“No!” Bruce snapped, jerking away before Tony could touch him. “I was starting to believe that maybe you _were_ different, but there you go, proving me wrong.”

“Are you going to—”

“You know what? This is my fault for trusting SHIELD employees. Is that why you picked me out? Under their instructions to shut me down?”

“Are you going to keep going on about that? Because I—”

“Oh, just drop it.” He snapped, anger and disappointment coursing through him as he forced himself not to lose it.

Tony cracked up, unable to hold himself together for a moment longer, and Bruce was ready to punch him in the face, or _something_ to cause him suitable amounts of pain. “It’s a cover story, Banner. If we tried to take this to the public, SHIELD would be on to us in five seconds flat. I put some bullshit story out saying that I’m exploring a new biochemical theory about what defines someone destined for Auto, keeping it pro-SHIELD, pro-Matching, while you go and tell the truth to the people who need to know.” Tony explained, a frustratingly triumphant and arrogantly proud look on his face. Bruce took two steps closer, and cracked his hand against Tony’s face as hard as he could manage. “Jesus!” He hissed, clutching the side of his face in pain.

“You fucking deserved that.” Bruce said, not feeling a single bit of guilt. “Why don’t you discuss shit like this with me first? I get that you’re used to working alone but we’re meant to be doing this together, and your opinion isn’t the only one that matters here.” His only wish was that he could find some kind of flaw in Tony’s logic, but he had to admit that he had spotted a problem that Bruce hadn’t foreseen. “… Did it work?”

Tony smirked despite his reddened cheek. “Like a charm.”

“And the machine is ready?” Bruce eyed the tangle of wires and screens set up in the middle of the lab. Tony’s fast paced manufacture didn’t lend itself to any kind of external casing; the entire thing sat exposed and looked, if Bruce had to admit it, wholly unprofessional and kind of dangerous.

“Bar test runs, yeah.”

Bruce rolled up a sleeve, baring his pale forearm as he collapsed into a chair. “Make it quick, would you? I’m not overly fond of needles.”

Tony looked at him blankly. “What do you… You want me to test your blood? Now?”

“You did all the heavy lifting, it’s only fair if I’m the guinea pig.” He trusted Tony though, and it was hardly the first time someone had taken a blood sample from him; some of them with much less training or experience than Tony.  Tony looked like a deer in headlights, like he didn’t know where to turn. “What? You weren’t expecting to go ahead without testing it first, were you? We need Unmatched test subjects, and here are two Auto eligible sources of blood in this room. Hell, we could try some quick comparisons before taking it outside Stark Industries, to get a better view on what we’re looking for.” He was thinking Clint, maybe, or Pepper—who he’d met a few more times now, including over a weirdly timed lunch meeting the previous day, when he and Tony had yet to go to bed—to supply some Matched blood samples. He was pretty sure they’d co-operate.

“I didn’t realise you wanted to…” Tony trailed off, and _God_ ¸ there was something weird going on here and Bruce needed to know what.

“Well… there’s not much point messing about with volunteers until we’ve got something concrete to work on.” Bruce couldn’t understand why Tony was being so unreasonable about this. “Tony, if you don’t pick up that needle and stab me, I will do it myself and trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

He chuckled uneasily, and ripped open the syringe packet. “Ready?” He asked, and Bruce nodded. He hissed as the needle pierced the skin, screwed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the weird feeling of blood leaving his body or the even weirder feeling of Tony’s hand, rough and warm, against his upper arm. “Done.” Bruce opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the light, and just managed to catch a tube of antiseptic cream Tony threw at him. “I don’t have any of those little Band-Aid dots, though. Sorry.”

“I think I’ll survive.” Bruce said drily, dabbing the spot of blood with a tissue. “How long does the analysis usually take?”

“For the full detailed analysis, about six hours?” Bruce let out a sigh of impatience. It felt like he’d been waiting months for this very data, and now the last few hours seemed like an endless struggle.

“Fine. Well, why don’t you go and get some sleep?” He suggested, aware of the dark circles under Tony’s eyes and the fact that he hadn’t left the lab in over a day.

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Sleep is necessary for day to day human functioning. Now go. In the unlikely event that something comes up that neither I nor JARVIS can handle, we’ll wake you up, okay?” Tony succumbed eventually, shuffling towards the elevator in a zombie like state of exhaustion.

*

“Anything cool?” Tony asked when he reappeared later. He had adorably bad bed hair and still had massive dark circles under his eyes, but he was clearly wide awake and refreshed at least a little bit.

“No idea.” Bruce said honestly.  He was beginning to see how flawed his research idea had been—he knew next to nothing about what it was he was researching. Fortunately, his Auto turned out to be something of an expert. “What's the average amount of animaphiline in Matched people?”

“It varies, but in the 800—1000 range.”

“800—1000 milligrams per centilitre?” Bruce asked warily, and Tony nodded. “Then you should definitely have a look at this.”

Tony came over, read the screen over his shoulder. “1100?” He said in disbelief. “You're sure this is right?”

“I haven't touched it. This is what your machine spat out.” He said. “This is progress, right? If people on Auto have the same hormone levels as Matched people, there's nothing biologically different.”

Tony looked uneasy. “It's only preliminary, Bruce. You can't extrapolate from incomplete data.”

Bruce dismissed him with an excited wave of his hand. “But it's a start!”

“You're counting chickens, Banner.”

“And you're being a buzzkill. We need more data, as soon as possible. Starting with you.” Bruce grabbed a fresh needle and ripped the packet open. “If we can only run four a day, we need to make sure we have the samples to maximise that. Now give me your arm.” Tony hesitated, then held his arm out with a sigh. “Why are you being so difficult?” Tony ignored him, so Bruce jabbed him unnecessarily hard with the needle in retaliation, making him yelp. He winced as he drew blood, and Bruce smirked. “Six hours, and we'll see whether you back me up. In the meantime, we need more. Do you have any leads for me?”

Tony rolled his eyes, but pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. “You're taking this so seriously. I pulled a few names from SHIELD, people who live in the city. I can't guarantee they'll help, but it's worth a shot.”

Bruce nodded, took the list of names and addresses from Tony. They were mainly in Brooklyn and Queens and it was far too late to go out tonight. “Tomorrow.” He said firmly. “I need the least conspicuous car you've got. And a driver.” He added as an afterthought, because he couldn’t remember the last time he actually drove anywhere and thus did not fancy Manhattan traffic in the slightest.

*

He pulled up at the first address on his list, a third floor apartment in a run-down street in Hell’s Kitchen. He knocked nervously. “If it's Malcolm you're wanting, he's the next door down.” A voice yelled, sounding exasperated as hell, from the other side of the door. Bruce didn’t know who Malcolm was, though he suspected at a wild guess he was either a drug dealer or a rent boy.

“I’m looking for Jessica Jones? My name is Dr Bruce Banner. I'm a scientist and researcher and I wanted to talk to you about your Match.”

There was the sound of a dropped plate from the apartment, before the door was yanked open. “Fucking keep it down, would you? Do you realise how many times we've had to move because people found out... Well...  you better come in.” Bruce stepped over the threshold and apologised, wondering what he'd got himself in to, and she slams the door behind him. “Are you with SHIELD?” She asked forcefully, and he instinctively takes a step back.

“N-No.” He said truthfully. “I'm leading an independent project that is trying to prove that there is no scientific evidence to support any injustice towards Automatically Matched people.”

The woman paused, staring at Bruce with an expression he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “Look, I don’t mean to sound rude, but can you prove you’re not bullshitting me? The last thing I need is some government asshole nosing around my private life.” Bruce gave her a small smile, having noticed the ‘private investigator’ sign on the door. He understood her concern. He wouldn’t put it past SHIELD to do something like that by any means. He’d come prepared, with evidence of all his qualifications, enough to disguise the absence of any formal medical training. She looked through them in silence before eventually handing them back. “I can see what this is about. Some good hearted big city philanthropist coming to save the day? A chance for a few photo ops, make yourself seem like you give a shit? I’d rather not, thanks.”

“That’s not what this is.” Bruce protested, feeling foolish. He should have foreseen this, foreseen the difficulties he would have in making people believe his story. To be honest, Bruce wasn’t sure he’d believe himself if their situations were reversed. “Look. Do you see a ring?” He didn’t mean to be so aggressive but God he needed people to realise that they were on the same side, that he was trying his best, sacrificing everything he had to help. “Or a band, or a bracelet, or anything else?”

Jessica raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “You’re Unmatched?”

“I’m seventeen days into an Auto.” He corrected. _Six weeks left_ hung unspoken in the air.

“And your Match is okay with this… this research?”

Bruce laughed. “My Match is the only reason I’ve got any of this off the ground.” She still looked disbelieving but Bruce pressed on, not willing to waste any more time if he wasn’t going to get any help. “We’re looking for volunteers to give samples of blood, people who went through Auto, but we have to keep it quiet. If SHIELD catches wind of this, they’re bound to shut us down, especially if they do have something to hide. I can do it right here, right now. Your name will never be on any records and only I will know you ever even helped us.”

Silence filled the room, heavy and oppressive, as Jessica considered Bruce’s proposal. “I just… I’m not sure it’s something I should be getting involved in. We stay under the radar, that’s how we survive.”

“But we’re talking about changing that!” Bruce exclaimed, not understanding how people could fail to share his vision. “If you help us, I’ll give you $200 in cash, right here, right now.” He said desperately, one final push to get something useful from this. He pulled out his wallet, extracted two $100 bills and placed them on the table between them. “And another $200 if your Match helps too. Yeah, I’m bribing you.” He said shamelessly. He still couldn’t get over the fact that two weeks living with Tony had put him in a world where carrying several hundred dollars in cash was normal. The woman’s eyes widened, looking from Bruce to the money, then she nodded.

“Fine.” She said quietly, but Bruce could still hear the embarrassment in her voice. He felt guilty, yeah, but on the other hand, they _needed_ this. They would help people like Jessica, in the long run. “Make it quick. And you can keep your other $200. You don’t want Kilgrave involved in this.”

Bruce went to extreme lengths, making a big show of putting on latex gloves, carefully opening the syringe packet and wiping the needle with an antibacterial swab. He’d even procured some little dot Band-Aids for the occasion, in an attempt to put his future patients at ease. “This might sting a little, but I need you to hold and still as you can, okay?” Bruce drew the blood with no problems, only creating a small hiss of pain when he removed the needle. The woman didn’t say anything more, just watched as Bruce repacked his bag efficiently. “If you have any questions, free feel to contact me.” He said, handing over a business card that Tony had had made for him for God knows what reason.

“Stark Industries?” She  said in disbelief, sounding furious. “You fucking work for Stark Industries? Like that’s any better than SHIELD!” She attempted to snatch the bag off him, take back the blood sample, and landed an impressive roundhouse kick that left him doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. Shit. He did not sign up for this. “Have your god damn filthy money back, you’re not using my blood for anything to do with that company.”

Bruce had totally forgotten about Tony’s stupid press release. Fuck.

“Tony Stark has made his views on Auto perfectly clear. Independent project, my ass. You’re just trying to monitor us like all the other self-righteous Matched assholes, hide us away like sweeping dirt under the fucking carpet.”

“Tony Stark is not a self-righteous Matched asshole.” Bruce said angrily. He wasn’t sure why he was defending him; Matched he wasn’t, but a week or so ago Bruce would have happily agreed with the other two accusations. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Oh, and you’d know, would you?”

“Yeah, as it goes. He’s my Match.” A shocked silence followed. Bruce dropped the blood vial on the table. “You can have it back if you want, I have no intention of stealing it, but be sure to know that Tony Stark is risking his name, his business and his reputation to help expose SHIELD, whether you believe it or not.”

Jess picked up the money, nodded towards the vial awkwardly. “Take it.” She said eventually, and Bruce nodded.

“Thank you for this.” Bruce said sincerely, taking that as his cue to leave. He edged through the tiny apartment back to the door, the blood clutched tightly in his hand. He was barely into the corridor when the door slammed behind him, rattling the glass in its frame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this fic! You all mean so much to me <3
> 
> Come hang with me on [ tumblr ](http://scibros.tumblr.com) :)


	7. Chapter 7

“Anything new?” Bruce asked, looking up at eight days' worth of their data that Tony had set up on his hologram system. He didn’t even need to wait for an answer, since the most compelling piece of evidence that they’d collected sat happily in an unsuspecting graph by the door. Tony had managed to cut the processing time to four hours, and put a second machine together from dubiously sourced materials, but that still gave them barely sixty samples to look at—nothing like enough to form a concrete conclusion, but probably enough to identify a trend in the data. And there was a trend, an obvious one even in the tiny trial size they were working with. “This just doesn’t make any sense.” Bruce said with a  sigh, resigning himself to spending a few more hours staring at those two points—Tony’s and his own—that made no sense in comparison to the other data. 

“Maybe it was just the early runs on the machine. Maybe it just took a few tests to calibrate and measure accurately.” Tony suggested, though he seemed far less bothered about the anomalies than Bruce did.

“Maybe.” Bruce said uneasily, the doubt barely disguised in his voice. “But ignoring those irregularities, we’ve got the start of a strong pattern, right? I mean, I’d like more data but with the time and resources we have, this is promising, at least.” The results were pretty conclusive—with them as the exception, those eligible for Automatic Matching had rock bottom levels of animaphiline, in some cases so low it was actually indeterminable.

Tony shrugged. “It’s kind of supporting SHIELD though. Animaphiline triggers Matches—low animaphiline, no Match.”

“Correlation doesn’t mean causation.” Bruce warned, almost on autopilot, and Tony laughed.

“God, it’s like being back in school.” He joked, a playful grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. “You’re right, though. But it’s promising, it’s something we can work with.”

Bruce reached out and zoomed to their two dots, lying in an otherwise empty area of the graph. “This just doesn’t make any sense. If there are any flaws or inconsistencies, you know SHIELD will jump on it to discredit us. Maybe we should re-run our samples.”

“No!” Tony said quickly, then attempted to cover himself as Bruce frowned. “We’ve got more data to put through. Surely that would be a better use of our time.”

“Why are you resisting me on this?” Bruce asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You’re hiding something from me, Stark. Do you want to tell me what it is, or am I going to have to find out for myself?”

“I’m not hiding anything.” Tony said calmly. For all Tony’s vast intelligence, he was entirely incapable of mustering anything vaguely resembling subtlety, but to be fair, he didn’t sound defensive, and that was enough for Bruce to believe him—for now. “We just have to keep moving forward, or we’ll get nowhere.”

“A thirtieth of our data is anomalous.”

“Then we keep collecting until the anomalies are negligible, even in SHIELD’s eyes.”

“But it’s _our_ data that’s anomalous. SHIELD are never going to ignore that, Tony.”

Tony didn’t respond, and in a rare turn of events, he ended up going to bed before Bruce did, who was doped up on so much coffee, determined to wait up until he had the lab to himself. He needed to run a fresh blood sample, no matter what Tony thought, just for his own peace of mind.

He jabbed the needle into his own forearm without flinching, too desperate for something tangible to care about the pain, too desperate for a real result to come from months of wasted research.

As the four hours passed, Bruce watched the lights in the office blocks flicker on, the first people in the city already working by the time the sun rose over Manhattan, bathing the dull concrete in a warm orange glow. It was beautiful—he could acknowledge that, objectively at least—but Bruce felt isolated from it, detached, as if Tony’s world and the world on the sidewalk below him could never exist in harmony. His life with Tony sacrificed the familiarity of the ground floor for the secure solitude of the penthouse, and Bruce was still struggling to decide if it was a worthy trade.

By the time the sidewalks had filled with suits and briefcases and the roads were packed bumper to bumper with taxi cabs, Bruce’s test results had come through. The reading was a little lower than the previous test, more comfortable ensconced in the 800 -1000 mg/cl range that was expected, but still vastly different to the rest of their research. The chance of such a mistake happening once was tiny. Twice was next to impossible.

There was something else going on, and Bruce needed to find out what—and the one person who seemed to know _anything_ was Tony.

“JARVIS, is Stark up yet?” He asked, not expecting him to be. He’d barely been asleep five hours, and Tony practically hibernated once he actually crashed out.

“Mr Stark has been called away to a short notice emergency business meeting in Berlin.” JARVIS reported immediately. “He didn’t wish to disturb you so left the message with me instead.”

“ _Berlin?_ ” Bruce repeated in utter disbelief. “For how long?”

“Usually, his trips last five to six days.”

Bruce let out a bitter laugh. If this wasn’t evidence that Tony was hiding something from him, he didn’t know what was. He’d been awkward, resistant, since Bruce had proposed testing their blood, but he’d just ignored it, suspecting that in fact Tony wasn’t as down with his research as he was pretending. And now, just as he started to unravel Tony’s lies, he disappeared to Europe. How convenient.

But it wasn’t just that. As much as Bruce tried to ignore it, the days were ticking by. They’d come a long way in twenty six days, from complete strangers to what, research partners? Colleagues? Dare he say it, even friends? He liked Tony—he liked him a lot more than he thought he was going to, but that didn’t change the fact that there was a large gap (for Bruce, at least) between friends and _sex_ , and Tony escaping to fucking Germany doesn’t help them close that gap.

Fuck it. It was time to test his hypothesis. “J, is Pepper around?”

“Ms Potts has several meetings today and won’t be free until later this evening, I’m afraid.” Bruce couldn’t wait until this evening. He needed this now, needed to know what was going on. Grabbing his phone, he hit dial on one of the few numbers programmed on there. “Barton? I need a favour.”

“You always need a favour.” Clint grumbled. “What are you ever going to give me in return, huh?”

“My first born child.” He snapped sarcastically. “Now get your ass over here and help me. Please. It’s really important, I promise.”

“You realise I’m at work, right?”

“Don’t you get a lunch break?”

Barton sighed. “Well, yes, but…” Bruce didn’t respond, just challenging him to see how long Clint could cope with the silence before he caved in. The answer was approximately twenty seconds, apparently.

“Fine. Fine! But you owe me _so bad_ , Banner.”

To Clint’s credit, he really didn’t ask that many questions, and presented his arm for a blood sample with little hesitation when he came around in his lunch hour. “I’m happy to help you out, but I’m not getting involved. This is entirely between you and Stark.” He warned, and Bruce only just managed to hold back a laugh. He already was involved—he worked for SHIELD, he enabled this to go on without stopping to question it for five minutes. Bruce decided against mentioning this though, having learned many years ago not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Besides, even if he disagreed with what he did for about a million different reasons, he actually quite liked Clint. He never felt like he was being lied to.

“I have no intention to involve you, don’t worry. I just need to check this one last thing out before I talk to Tony, and Pepper was busy.”

“And I wasn’t?” He said indignantly. “I see how it is.”

Four hours later, and he had before his eyes a sample with animaphiline levels almost exactly the same as his tested that morning. Matched levels of animaphiline.

Fuck waiting for Tony. “JARVIS, book me a seat on the next flight to Berlin.”

*

Bruce had never been to Germany before. Hell, he had never been to Europe before, and he had totally overlooked the whole language barrier thing. JARVIS had given him the name and address of the hotel that Tony checked in to, so he figured he’d just wait there and accost him in the lobby or something. He hadn’t thought this through, to be honest—he just knew that he couldn’t wait any longer to find out what exactly Tony knew, and why he didn’t bother telling Bruce.

He got a taxi to the hotel, and the driver gave him a short history lesson on various landmarks they passed in slightly broken English, clearly pegging him as a tourist. In any other circumstances, he’d be eager to learn more, but he was more concerned with finding out what Tony was hiding from him than the colourful history of the Reichstag Building and besides, he was exhausted. Even stealing a few hours’ sleep on the plane hadn’t helped, since local time was about 9am—he’d effectively missed two real nights of sleep. They pulled up outside the hotel and fuck, no wonder the driver had looked so surprised when he’d said this address. He’d thought it was because of his terrible attempt at German, but apparently he was just heading to the fanciest hotel in Berlin, jetlagged, underdressed and probably looking like a zombie. Great.

Bruce took a deep breath, really wishing he wasn’t wearing his most battered and worn sweats, and stepped through the sleek glass automatic doors into the lobby. It was huge and high ceilinged, an opulent chandelier hanging overhead casting a cosy warm glow across the softly furnished room. A few people, mostly old people, sat around with newspapers and cups of tea, gave him weird looks that he attempted to ignore as he tried to act like this was exactly where he was meant to be. He walked straight to the reception desk, hoping someone here spoke English. “Hi, I’m looking for Tony Stark?” He said nervously. “I think he’s staying in this hotel, checked in yesterday. Could I get his room number?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t give out that information.” The girl behind the desk said apologetically in perfect English, a mere trace of an accent behind her words. “It is hotel policy to maintain our guests’ privacy—I’m sure you understand.”

Bruce paused. “I’m his Match.” He said, trying to sound confident. He pulled the wad of paper from his bag that Natasha had given him a few weeks previously, with both his and Tony’s signatures as well as the SHIELD verification stamp.

“You are Automatic Matches?” She said in surprise. Bruce blushed. God, here we go. He started to stammer out an apology and went to take the papers back from her, but she shook her head. “In Germany, we abolished Automatic Matches many years ago.”

He paused to consider that. How did he not know this? This definitely felt like something he should have known. “Really? Is that unusual?”

The receptionist shook her head. “A lot of countries in Europe said it was immoral and unfair. Many people are protesting to have it abolished in their own countries too.”

Yet in America, no one gives it a second thought. Autos were just _broken_. It was in some ways reassuring that the entire world wasn’t as fucked up and morally backwards when it comes to Matching. “It still happens in England, though.” Bruce said, pretty damn certain on this. He remembered one of Jane Foster’s friends finding her Match last year, just eleven days before she turned thirty.

“For now, yes. Mr Stark did not tell you his room number?”

 “I’m here to surprise him, but I wanted it to be a secret.” He said, forcing himself to give her a smile he hoped passed off as mischievous. “If you get what I mean.”

The girl lifted a hand to her neck almost subconsciously, where her Matching symbol—a simple silver ring—hung from a fine chain, and gave him a small smile. “He’s on floor eleven. Room three.” She slid a key card across the desk. “I’ll have some breakfast sent up, too. Complementary.”

Bruce thanked her, and headed towards the elevators. It was amazing how much shit you could get away with by playing love drunk, he thought, as he punched the button for the eleventh floor. If you’d asked him a month ago what being Matched would bring, he was pretty sure his guesses wouldn’t have involved spontaneous trips to Europe, but then again, such was life with Tony Stark. He located room three and let himself in; it was just as spacious and extravagant as he imagined, and was littered with more empty mini-bar bottles than he would have liked. Tony was sprawled diagonally across the bed, dead to the world in just a pair of well-fitting boxer briefs.

“Tony.” Bruce said, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Tony!”

He stirred a little, shifted onto his side before resettling. “ _Tony!_ ” He practically yelled, and he sat up with a start before groaning loudly, rubbing his head.

“Bruce, shit, keep it down, will you?” He whispered indignantly. Bruce counted to three slowly, waited for the realisation to hit him. Tony’s timing was comical. “Wait—what?”

Bruce gave him no time to process his sudden appearance before placing his hands gently on Tony’s cheek and pulling him in, pressing their lips together. It had been a long time since he’d kissed anyone and Jesus _,_ Tony’s breath was disgusting but there was no denying that _spark_ , that little jolt of something just indescribable, the feeling in his chest that this was meant to be. When they broke apart, Tony just stared at him in silence, eyes wide and pink lips forming a perfect surprised little ‘o’. “But you…” He started, looking from Bruce to the window and back to Bruce. “This is definitely not New York, okay, didn’t dream that. Good. Why… Why are you here? Did you just _kiss_ me? Why did I fucking decide to drink so much last night, _fuck_ , my head.”

Bruce wanted to just yell at him here and now, but Tony was a _mess_. “You have fifteen minutes to clean up and get some coffee and fucking _brush your teeth_ , and then we’re talking.” Tony nodded and sat up without argument, and Bruce could only presume that Tony knew what was going on. Judging by the hangover, Tony had absolutely no intentions of attending any emergency business meetings, and his flying four thousand miles away was purely just to avoid this confrontation. Brilliant.

By the time Tony had emerged from the shower, looking slightly more alive and very sheepish, the breakfast promised by the lovely girl on reception had arrived. Europeans knew how to do breakfast, Bruce thought, because his out of whack body clock really could just do with a sandwich right now, and apparently German breakfast was American lunch. “So.” Tony said, sitting down opposite him with his hair still damp and messed up, the opposite of the polished and dignified Tony Stark everyone else saw.

“So.” Bruce repeated coolly. “I have a question for you, Stark, and for once in your life, I want you to tell me the truth. Why did you accept me for Auto?”

Tony shrugged, and maybe it would be convincing to anyone but Bruce. “I’d seen your research, you’re an interesting guy. And pretty damn easy on the eyes, too.”

Bruce blushed, running his fingers through his scruffy matted curls subconsciously at the remark. “So you decided you’d voluntarily sign your life away because you thought, from reading some stupid and nonsensical hypotheses, that I was an interesting guy?”

“I’ve made worse decisions.”

“Cut the bullshit, Stark.”

Tony actually threw his hands up in frustration. “Does it really matter?” He said in exasperation, stealing a slice of salami from the breakfast plate and stuffing it in his mouth. “I picked you for Auto. You were there, Banner. We signed the documents at the same time. If it’s taken you this long to realise what that was, I’m a little concerned.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stark.” He snapped, his attempt to stay calm and in control flying out the window. “We’re not talking about Automatic Matching here. We’re talking full on, animaphiline surging, destined for each other _Matching_.”

Tony froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then why don’t I propose a new hypothesis?” Bruce said, about as patronising as he could possibly imagine. “I think we Matched. I think we Matched _years_ ago in Phoenix at that stupid conference. And you’ve known about it this whole time. That’s why you picked me. You recognised me so you picked me out for your Auto, but for some reason, you didn’t want me to find out. Instead of just fucking _telling_ me, you’ve just tried to resist whenever my research leads me closer to the truth. But I did another test, compared it to a sample of Barton’s blood. It’s the same. My blood, your blood, Barton’s blood, all showing near identical levels of animaphiline. We’re _Matched_ , and as soon as I came close to finding out the truth, you fucking ran away to Berlin to hide from me.”

Tony let him rant without interrupting, which was unusual in itself. Even more unusual was that he didn’t even try to deny it. “Congratulations. You figured it out.” He muttered bitterly, helping himself to more food. “What do you want, an award?”

Bruce seethed, struggling to believe that anyone could be this damn infuriating. “Why the fuck did you keep this from me?” He spat, barely resisting the urge to lob a breakfast roll at his fucking head.

Tony huffed out a harsh laugh, rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to, you know. I didn’t know who you were, not really, but the way you talked to me after that stupid presentation, I assumed you knew who I was. So I waited for you that whole weekend, waited for you to come back and find me, but you didn’t. So I tracked down who you were, tracked you to a crappy little lab in New Mexico, pulled your name, your research, and what did I find? My luck, isn’t it, to eventually find my Match and it’s some asshole telling everyone who will listen that Matching isn’t even real.” Bruce opened his mouth to defend himself, but no words came out, so Tony continued. “I followed your research for a while, and it soon became abundantly clear that you had no idea. Every night, I see your fucking face in my head, and you don’t even care.”

“T-Tony…” Bruce choked out, cursing himself for never considering this. _Fuck._

“I wasn’t going to accept you for Auto. You tortured me for five years; I _hated_ you, hated everything about you. It sounds dumb, but I’m not exactly used to rejection. But I couldn’t do it. How could I? Even knowing that you’d hate me, that you’d never accept us being together, I couldn’t pass it up. Selfish, yes, but I don’t care.” There was a defiant edge to his voice, unapologetic, and suddenly this had all been turned on him, and Bruce could only agree. He came here to force Tony to explain himself but this wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, pathetically. “I had no idea.”

Tony looked at him, before giving him a small smile. “But that’s interesting, right? You didn’t get anything? No jolts of happiness or unexplained boners?”

“I didn’t even know that was meant to happen until Clint told me the other week.” He confessed. “Maybe I just missed it.”

Tony laughed hollowly. “You can’t _miss_ it, Bruce.”

Only now does he realise what it must have looked like for Tony. He rejected a Match, the one thing in life that was meant to be a certainty. It must have been agony, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

No-one said anything for a few minutes, just ate in silence. “So what is this now?” Tony asked eventually, not meeting Bruce’s eyes. Even now, after everything, after Tony’s revelation, he was still letting Bruce call the shots. The twinge of guilt in his gut returned. “I mean, SHIELD aren’t going to believe us, not in a million years.”

“Then we have to stick at the research until we can prove it.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that unless we… you know…”

“Fuck?” Bruce supplied helpfully, forcing his voice to remain light. “Right. I am aware.”

Tony tried to say something, false started a few times as he figured out how to word it. “I can’t lose you again.” He managed, lifting his eyes from his hands to meet Bruce’s. He’d never seen Tony so vulnerable—he thought back to what Clint had said, about people’s defensiveness over their Matches, and realised that he’d kind of been shitting all over Tony’s feelings for weeks. He was the worst person in existence. “I know that you hate me, but stay. Please.”

“You think I hate you?” Bruce blurted in shock. That was totally not the point, Bruce realised, but he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Tony, I don’t hate you. Honestly you’re… you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I have no intention of leaving.” 

“But—”

“I don’t hate you.” He repeated emphatically, cutting Tony off before he could try and justify his false opinion. “Even the day we met, I never hated you because it wasn’t your fault we got paired up together. … Okay, so maybe it was your fault, but I didn’t know that at the time.” Tony laughed quietly, but Bruce carried on. “And I think we’ve scientifically proved even beyond my idea of reasonable doubt that Matching is real.” Auto, not so much, but that could be left until later. “Even I’m not stubborn enough to walk away from my _soulmate_ purely out of spite. Not again. It’s not you I hate, Tony, it’s SHIELD. I mean I’m not… I’m not in _love_ with you or anything,” he said honestly, flushing a little. And for the first time in months, he was being honest with himself. “But I feel like maybe I could be. Some day.”

Tony didn’t respond, and Bruce didn’t have anything else to say, so they sat in silence for a few minutes until Bruce let out a yawn. “Sorry. I haven’t slept properly in two days.”

“Well, you woke me up at a ridiculous hour to yell at me, so I would happily have some more sleep. Do you want me to get reception to find you a room?” He offered, and Bruce knew Tony’s influence could muster a room up even if it meant throwing another guest into the street.

“I kind of might have told the receptionist that I was planning a surprise for you and I think her heart may break if she thought it had gone so badly that I required another room. Also this place looks insanely expensive. I can just sleep on the couch, it’s fine.”

“You have the bed.” Tony said, poking Bruce with his toe to make him move.

“Nuh uh, you’re paying for it.”

“And if I wasn’t such an asshole, we would be having this conversation in New York right now, so take the fucking bed.”

Bruce couldn’t believe that they, as two grown adult men, were genuinely having this conversation. “Why don’t we share the bed?” He suggested. It was so big they would practically be sleeping in different continents anyway.

“Are you s—”

“Baby steps, isn’t it? Tonight we share a bed, and in forty days’ time or whatever, we fuck.” Bruce said, starting to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged it off and pulled his ratty old Culver Uni t-shirt from his bag, trying to ignore Tony trying to ignore Bruce getting changed in front of him. He wasn’t exactly much to look at—he had little time or desire to work out, after all—but Tony’s eyes were practically popping out his head. Matching was weird, Bruce thought.

He slid under the covers and shit, that was soft. If this was what Stark Industries money could buy you, Bruce thought, he could get used to this. He wasn’t even bothered by the bed dipping the other side as Tony crawled in, barely able to feel it across the vast expanse of mattress provided between them.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a touch late; I have a gross cold and have been sleeping pretty much all day :( Thanks so much for reading as always <3 Find me on tumblr [ here](http://scibros.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

“Bruce?” A voice said, shaking him slightly as he dozed. His eyes flickered open, pulling him from the comfort of a well needed nap, and he groaned. It took him a moment to realise what the fuck was going on—huge bed, unfamiliar room, Tony in just sweat pants lying next to him—before it came flooding back.

He kind of wished he could just go back to sleep, that this was all some elaborate nightmare, but he had no such luck. The bright afternoon sunshine of Berlin lit a small strip across the floor from the gap between the curtains, a mere glimpse of the city outside visible. He was in in Europe. He was _in bed_ with Tony Stark. He was Matched, for God’s sake.

Rationally, he knew he couldn’t just sleep through the entire day; his body clock was fucked up enough as it was, but a combination of sleep deprivation and jet lag might just make him fully nocturnal if he wasn’t careful. Tony’s face was barely a foot from his, looking only a little more awake than he felt. His mussed up hair lay flat against the pillows instead of neatly styled with all of the usual product in it—like seriously, who needs that much product in their hair when they aren’t even leaving the lab, let alone the house? “Didn’t want you to sleep too much.” He said, barely stifling a yawn himself and rolling on to his back to give Bruce some space.

Bruce sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then glanced at his watch. Just gone one in the afternoon. He supposed the handful of hours rest would do for now, topped up with a coffee or four to keep him going through whatever Tony was meant to be doing today. “God, this place is nice.” He remarked, not having been able to fully appreciate it earlier through a combination of exhaustion and all the yelling.

Tony shrugged, sitting up too. “I let JARVIS pick the hotels. Do you want to jump in the shower first, or—”

Bruce gestured to the ensuite bathroom door, indicating Tony’s freedom to utilise the facilities, before slumping back down into the pillows. He was so out of his depth here; Tony let his automated computer system book stupidly expensive hotels in Europe for him to escape to at a moments’ notice, and he could barely scrape together the meagre rent on his old apartment back in New Mexico. Their Match felt like some cruel joke, an experiment to see exactly how the other half really lives. Tony seemed happy enough footing the bill, but Bruce couldn’t help but feel guilty.

Their _Match._ A part of him was still pretty sure this was all just some elaborate hoax.

“You want to go for a walk?” Tony asked once Bruce had re-emerged, showered and freshly shaven and no longer stinking of airplane but _still_ feeling insanely out of place. “I thought we could get some very late lunch, do some sightseeing or something, if you’ve never been here before.”

“You’re not even going to pretend that there actually was a business meeting?”

Tony shrugged, gave Bruce one of those arrogant smirks that he was oh so good at that had Bruce itching to slap it off his face. “Not much point, is there? You’re just as good as seeing through my bullshit as Pepper is.”

Bruce was still confused by Tony’s relationship with the mysterious Pepper Potts. They’d only met a handful of times since she was always so busy, but Tony and Pepper’s verbal sparring and ability to invent increasingly ridiculous and near instantaneous comebacks was a level of friendship beyond anything he’d ever seen. If that wasn’t Matching, what the hell was? But the thin silver band on her wrist was unmistakable, adorned with a tiny plate etched N.R.

They meandered around the centre of the city, each street merging into the next as they wandered aimlessly. They stopped at a little café that Tony swore did the best currywurst in all of Berlin for lunch. “It’s a hot dog with curry sauce?” He’d asked sceptically, but Tony had persuaded him, had told him ‘trust me’ and Bruce, for better or for worse, did.

Tony was totally right, of course.

They saw most things that Bruce remembered from the news when he was a kid; he wasn’t really into history, but it was interesting anyway, and Tony was enjoying himself being a tour guide. He had said something about an art gallery, and if he were to be brutally honest, Bruce would admit he really wasn’t at all interested in art either, but he wasn’t about to step on Tony’s fun. They wandered from the Western part of the city to the East in near silence, Tony pointing out a building or a statue or a specific streetlight at sporadic intervals if he thought there was something interesting about it. Bruce had to remind him a few times that he was five years younger—he barely remembered the bloody Cold War.

“The East Side Gallery.” Tony said with a flourish.

“This is the Berlin Wall.” He stated, because his history knowledge might be shoddy but even he knew enough to work that out. “People graffitied the Berlin Wall?”

“It’s a political statement, Bruce. An international memorial for freedom.”

“You sound like Wikipedia.”

Tony shrugged; Bruce laughed. He wondered how much of Tony’s tour guide routine had been picked up by memorising Wikipedia pages before he woke up. It was sweet though, and he appreciated the effort. They walked slowly along the wall, Tony from time to time sharing a bit of internet gleaned knowledge about a particular painting. Tony’s arm swung loosely by his side as Bruce had his hands stuffed in his pockets, until he reached out and caught Tony’s mid-swing.

Tony didn’t even hesitate, intertwining his fingers with Bruce’s with a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.” Bruce informed him, but he smiled too, because here he was, in Berlin, walking down the street with someone who, despite everything, he actually really liked, holding his fucking hand without wanting to throw up. He’d accepted a long time ago that he was never going to have this.

Tony stopped without warning at a particular painting, and okay, even Bruce had seen this before. “Go on then, Mr Wikipedia.” He said with a laugh. A young couple posed underneath the two men in the painting, mimicking their embrace with a passionate kiss and someone else snapped a photo. He gestured towards the writing, Russian from what he could make of it. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know, I don’t speak Russian.”

Bruce just looked at him expectantly, knowing that Tony wouldn’t have stopped if he didn’t have something to say.

“My God, help me to survive this deadly love.” Tony muttered, intentionally not meeting Bruce’s eye.

Bruce couldn’t stop himself from laughing a little. “Well, if that isn’t wildly appropriate.”

“Picture?” The man photographing the couple tapped Tony on the shoulder and indicated the painting.

Tony shook his head, dropped Bruce’s hand like it was scalding hot. “Nein, danke.” He said but Bruce stopped him.

“Yes, please.”

“Bruce—” But he’d already handed over his phone, and dragged Tony closer to the wall. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He snorted, and took a step closer. They were practically chest to chest, nose to nose, and Bruce reached to touch his face, hands cupping his jaw. He tipped his head one way, Tony the other, in perfect harmony as their lips brushed together. It was different to the kiss in the hotel room that morning; Tony was kissing back, for one. And his breath didn’t taste like stale alcohol. It was tentative, sure, but it was real. Every touch of Tony’s lips felt like a triumph, a celebration of finally being with who he was meant to be with. It felt like… like no kiss in the whole of history had felt like this. He could feel Tony smiling against his mouth, the bristles of his goatee scratching at his face, his lips firm and determined, his teeth catching Bruce’s lip and tugging gently; _fuck, Tony was a damn good kisser._

Bruce had to push him away a little eventually, a firm shove to the shoulders because there was a limit to how much passionate making out—there really was no other way to describe it—was appropriate at the Berlin Wall. Their makeshift photographer handed Bruce his phone back with a teasing smile. “Very sweet.” He said, with a strong accent, and Bruce blushed.

“That was...” Tony started, then gave up on trying to describe it, shaking his head a little. “I’ve kissed a lot of people, Banner, but that… _Fuck_.”

So he wasn’t the only one. “Hormones.” Bruce shrugged. He couldn’t believe he’d ever doubted _this_ was real. It might not be exactly what he was expecting, but it was definitely real. “It’s like being a teenager again, but worse.”

“Think about the poor people who find their Matches when they’re teenagers.” Tony grinned. They continued walking along the wall, letting others take their place for photographs. “It must be so hard to concentrate on anything but screwing all the time that it’s a wonder they get any shit done.”

By the time they had wandered for an hour more, with Tony chipping in with random facts every few minutes, the sun was starting to dip below the Berlin skyline. A different country, a different continent, yet it didn’t feel that far away from New York. He was a tourist in his own city as much as he was across the ocean.

“Bruce?”

Bruce started, having totally zoned out for God knows how long. Tony grinned. “It’s okay, I knew you weren’t listening.” Bruce tried to defend himself, but yeah, no, he’d kind of stopped paying attention a while ago, favouring aimless staring and deep introspection like the emo teenager he secretly was inside. “I asked if you wanted to get some dinner.”

Bruce glanced at his watch and nodded. He’d effectively given up on fixing his body clock to Berlin time, figuring they’d only be staying a couple more days at the most. Tony managed to hail a taxi, and Tony spoke rapid German to the driver. “I didn’t know you speak German.” Bruce said, impressed. God, was there anything Stark _couldn’t_ do? He’d kind of presumed the whole arrogant genius façade was… well, a façade, but it seemed like he discovered a new talent of Tony’s every fucking day.

“Ein bisschen.” He grinned, and Bruce shook his head in disbelief. “I dabble in languages. I mean, I travel a lot, or used to travel a lot, and it’s always worth knowing a few phrases here and there. Most people just speak English to be honest, but hey, I like to make an effort.”

The taxi pulled up outside the hotel, and Bruce couldn’t stop himself being a little annoyed. Any place that required they go back to the hotel to ‘clean up’ or whatever would never be his first choice of places to eat. “You don’t need to look so put out.” Tony said. Bruce looked at him questioningly, and he clarified. “I worked out pretty quickly that fancy stuff freaks you out.” He passed a handful of euros to the driver as they stepped out, and Tony started walking towards the lobby.

“I don’t _freak out_.” Bruce defended, falling into step beside Tony. “I just feel like there are better things to spend the entire GDP of a small country on than dinner for two that consists of a teaspoon of peas or whatever.”

“You exaggerate.” Tony said airily, and Bruce wished that were true. “I thought we’d just order room service.”

Honestly, Bruce would have been happy with a take away pizza but he figured this was as far as Tony would bend, so he nodded. It beat being out in the restaurant, at least; Bruce figured a hotel like this couldn’t be that different to the places Tony usually frequented in New York. Eating in the room shielded him a little from the all too apparent fact that he did not belong in this world, and that  he had no desire to either.

They ate in silence, almost—Tony ate his lamb with such reverence that Bruce felt like starting a conversation would ruin the moment, and eating was the only time Tony ever shut up. As soon as the last morsel had been swallowed, he didn’t hesitate. “Can I ask you something?”

“I’ve got a feeling you’re about to.” Two weeks ago, facing a line of Tony Stark’s interrogation would have put him on edge, but he’d had enough of it now to realise that Tony was about as intimidating as a wet sponge and to know the questions tended to be inane and usually not even about him.

“You kissed me.”

Well, trust Tony to fuck that up now. “That’s not a question.”

Tony nodded. “Right, sure. The question is, did you kiss me because you actually wanted to kiss me? Or did you kiss me because you’d found out six hours previously that I’m your Match and you thought that you _should_ want to kiss me, so you kissed me even though you didn’t really want to because you felt like you were being forced?”

“Fuck, Tony. I thought I was meant to be the insecure one.” He joked, but Tony didn’t laugh. He swallowed nervously, looked down at his hands and muttered, “Look, it’s… it’s complicated, okay?”

“You’re really using ‘it’s complicated’?” Tony shook his head in disbelief, laughing darkly. “Why don’t you just throw out ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ and we can all go home?”

“Tony, I’m sorry, I—”

“I don’t have the right to tell you what to feel Bruce, but this is my life too, and I think I deserve something a _bit_ more specific that ‘it’s complicated’. I _know_ it’s complicated; that barely begins to cover it. Our lives are so complicated that they make Inception look like a walk in the park. Just give me something to work with!” Tony looked like he was about to throw something through a window, or possibly break down crying, or perhaps even both. At the same time. He took a deep breath, tried to calm down a little. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

And Bruce understood his frustration, because it was the same frustration he felt. He was attracted to Tony, of course he was. He was attracted to Tony before he knew they were Matched, before he found that he _had_ to be by his very nature, and that came with its own kind of complications. He ran his hand through curls windswept by the afternoon of walking, not quite knowing how to explain himself.

“I like you, Tony.” He managed, and Tony looked ready to destroy many expensive things at the vagueness of his response. He hurried on, trying to get the words out before he let cowardice overcome him. “At risk of sounding seven years old, I really do like you, and primarily, yes, I kissed you because I wanted to.”

“Primarily?” He repeated, sounding almost afraid of what else Bruce had to say. “Do all your romantic inclinations come with an ulterior motive?”

Bruce allowed himself to smile a little. “Not usually.” He said honestly. “Look, this might seem a bit… weird to you, knowing your reputation, but… I don’t really do the whole _other people_ thing.”

“And by other people thing, you mean…”

Bruce shrugged, feeling more than a little embarrassed. “Fucking them, mainly.” He knew it was unusual, being a thirty year old man able to count the times he’d had sex on one hand, but it was even worse when comparing himself to a renowned playboy the likes of whom even the paparazzi have all but given up keeping tabs. “Not strangers at least. Matched or not, I’ve still known you barely three weeks and we only have, what, four or five weeks to have sex? So yeah, maybe a small part of me did kiss you because I felt obligated to, but not by _you_. In fact, all things considered you’ve been really good about everything.” Especially since he spent most of that time, as well as apparently the previous five years, indirectly and accidentally invalidating Tony’s own feelings—that was a level of guilt too big for him to attempt to unburden right now.

“What did you expect me to do, Banner? Carry on trying to have sex with you while you ugly cried all over me?” Bruce said nothing, and Tony swore under his breath. “Jesus Christ, Bruce…”

“I was brought up on the horror stories about Automatic Matching, Tony; can you blame me? I hoped I’d be able to go through with it if it was on my own terms, but clearly not.” He laughed a little at his own stupidity. “Thanks, by the way. For, you know… Stopping.”

“Don’t thank me. I shouldn’t have tried to start in the first place.” He toyed with the edge of his wine glass as he spoke, not looking at Bruce properly. “It was all wrong. I should have said no. I was too willing to accept you wanted it because...” He paused, trailed off, looking wholly ashamed. “You want to get some cheesecake?’ He asked, picking up the menu again. “The white chocolate and raspberry cheesecake here is to die for, seriously. Best cheesecake I’ve ever eaten.”

“Tony—”

“Or the Black Forest ice cream sundae? I think Pepper cried over it a little, the last time we came here, said it was the greatest thing she’d ever eaten. And she usually stays away from ice cream so it must be pretty fucking good. Or—”

“Cut the crap, Tony.” He visibly wilted a little, dropping the menu back on the table. “When I asked you for sex, you gave me sex. When I asked you to stop, you stopped. You’re not a mind reader. That’s all anyone can expect from you and you were downright honourable, okay, so don’t mope about and think you took advantage of me because you didn’t.” Bruce watched Tony’s reaction carefully, could see him battling with his instinct to blame himself for literally everything. “Tony, seriously, I get it. You wanted to have sex with me. It’s biology; you’re _meant_ to want to have sex with me. And knowing what you knew, it was pretty fair to assume that I wanted to have sex with you too.”

Tony tried to argue back, but Bruce just glared at him until he gave in. He didn’t blame Tony—hell, he barely thought there was anything to blame Tony _for_. The fucked up situation they had found themselves in was, in its entirety, thanks to SHIELD and Garrett and the stupid Automatic Matching system, so badly policed that no-one noticed that they were already fucking Matched.

“We’ll take it slow.” Tony said after a minute’s silence. “We’ll be okay.”

_We’ll be okay._ Bruce thought. _We’ll be okay._

And maybe he would have believed it if it weren’t for the persistent voice in his head telling him _thirty days down, thirty days to go._

 “Can I ask _you_ a question?” They were half way through their dessert by the time Bruce mustered up the courage. It wasn’t that he was worried Tony wouldn’t answer, but that he didn’t think he’d much like to know it. Tony nodded, face stuffed full of what was admittedly the most delicious chunk of cheesecake Bruce had ever consumed. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Tony’s fork hovered over his dessert, never quite making it to his mouth. “Would you have told me if it was the other way around?” He said eventually, looking anywhere but Bruce.

That wasn’t a fucking answer—it wasn’t even a valid point. Bruce had no frame of reference for these kinds of feelings. He’d never had expectations of Matching in the same way other people did. He had reached thirty, Unmatched, and been completely unsurprised, feeling nothing but cold hearted acceptance. That wasn’t normal.

“I’d have told you.” He said, because he had no idea why he wouldn’t have done, and he just wanted a straight answer, damn it. Tony laughed darkly.

“Of course you would have done. You don’t get it at all.”

The words should have been insulting but Bruce knew that Tony didn’t mean it like that. Besides, he _didn’t_ get it. He never pretended to. Sure, he liked Tony—enjoyed his company, appreciated his intelligence—but that wasn’t enough to indicate a soulmate thing. Was it?

“I don’t know how to explain it.” He said, sounding frustrated, sounding like all he wanted from the world was a way to make Bruce understand. “Look, do you trust me?” Tony said, and Bruce shrank back slightly, expecting Tony to throw him off his hair or ask him to fall back into his arms or something. “No, I don’t mean like that. I mean… do you instinctively trust me not to hurt you?”

Bruce thought about it for a second, and struggled to come to an honest conclusion. “More than I trust most people.” He said eventually, which really wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t trust people at all.

“So, that’s a no.” Bruce didn’t respond. “That’s why I couldn’t tell you, Bruce. You don’t trust me at the best of times. Which is fine, incidentally. You don’t even know me, not really. But you wouldn’t have believed me if I’d just come out and said it when we first met. Even I could see that. I didn’t want to you to run before I’d had a chance to show you—” He broke off, flushing slightly.

“That you’re not as much of an asshole as everyone likes to make out?” Bruce suggested.

“Sure.” Tony smiled despite himself. “I promise, I didn’t mean to keep stuff from you out of spite. I just… I didn’t want to lose you before you realised that you might—well. You know what I mean.”

_Feel the same,_ Bruce said to himself. He didn’t know if he did, not exactly, but Tony was easily the best friend he’d ever had, and they’d only known each other for a couple of weeks. That didn’t happen to Bruce. “I know what you mean.” He said. “But I still wish you’d told me earlier.”

“I’m glad I didn’t.” Tony said unashamedly, returning to his cheesecake now that the tensest part of the conversation had passed.

“Why?”

“Because, you’ve taken it pretty well, considering the amount of lies you’ve had to put up with lately. You haven’t bolted, and you only yelled at me for like, ten minutes. That’s pretty much getting away with murder as far as I’m concerned.” Bruce scowled, and Tony just smirked at him, the infuriating son of a bitch. “I’m sorry I kept it from you, okay? I only wanted to give us a chance, and I swear I was going to tell you soon if you didn’t figure it out yourself. As soon as the research started moving in this direction, I knew you’d connect the dots soon enough.”

“So I was right on schedule?” He raised an eyebrow. Tony Stark was such a schemer. It didn’t surprise him in the least that he’d pretty much planned this whole thing out.

“You’re actually a few days ahead.” He replied seriously. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually follow me out to Berlin.”

Bruce smirked, stealing a spoonful of Tony’s dessert even though he had his own right in front of him. “Oh, trust me, Stark. I would happily travel much further than four thousand miles just to be a pain in your ass.”

“And don’t I believe it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay honestly when I came to writing this and last chapter I was like... "cities I have been to and remember sufficiently to write about" and that brought me solely to Berlin. Gosh I need to travel more. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr [here](http://scibros.tumblr.com) :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I FORGOT TO POST YESTERDAY I HAD A BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WAS REALLY REALLY DRUNK AT THE TIME I USUALLY POST AND DIDN'T THINK ABOUT IT :( HERE IT IS NOW INSTEAD <3

“… Okay, boys. What the hell is going on here?”

Bruce damn near jumped out of his skin, and Tony just chuckled. “Hey Natasha.” They’d been back from Berlin almost a week now, and their research was coming along nicely. No more anomalies or problems had come up since they’d removed their own data, and even to Tony’s cynical mind, it looked like they were definitely on to something. Whether it would be enough to win over SHIELD, Bruce didn’t know, but their hypothesis was slowly but surely becoming difficult to argue with. They definitely weren’t aligning with the Automatic Matches’ data.

Their Matching Officer shot them a quick look before pointedly glancing up at their research still suspended in holograms around the top floor lounge. They were taking a break from the lab, the lack of natural light starting to drive Bruce mad, but thanks to JARVIS, their work was pretty portable. Tony noticed Natasha’s subtle warning, and clicked off the displays with a single word, a smug grin on his face. “Can we help you? Pepper’s in a meeting until five.”

“I’m here on SHIELD business.” She said emphatically, and Tony nodded with a roll of his eyes. There was clearly some kind of code being exchanged here, something Bruce didn’t understand, so he just kept quiet. “It’s routine, just checking that you and Dr. Banner are… doing okay.”

“We’re excellent, thank you, Ms Romanoff.” Tony said chirpily, flashing her a playful grin. Okay, something was definitely up. Bruce had seen how Tony usually interacted with Natasha, all sniping and provocation. The only person he was worse with was Pepper, and the three of them together was a nightmare.  This level of civility was unprecedented. “Aren’t we, Bruce?” He said with a nudge, and shit, he didn’t know what was going on, and he really didn’t want to do something to put his foot in it.

He decided that just nodding was safest, caught off guard by his involvement in the conversation. “Yeah, we’re… we’re great. Thanks.” He tacked on hurriedly, attempting to sound sincere. In a twist of fate, he actually _was_ being kind of sincere. The situation could have been better, yeah, but he’d dismissed the idea of ever finding his own Match years ago, so even the fact that he proved himself wrong and made himself look like a fool didn’t stop him being pretty damn happy with his current hand.

Natasha looked awkwardly apologetic, the line between corporate statue and concerned friend beginning to blur. “Are you ready to—”

“No.” Tony cut her off, his tone sharp. “No, we’re _not_. We’ve still got three weeks, right?”

She flicked her finger down her tablet screen, scanning it efficiently. “Twenty four days, according to my file.”

And then he understood what they were talking about. Twenty four days left to fuck, Bruce knew that much; he’d been keeping an internal countdown—not intentionally, but driven through anxiety. Things had been moving well over the last few days, admittedly, and he felt far more comfortable around Tony than he ever had around anyone else, but _twenty four days_ still sounded like a dangerously short time. He could only wonder, _ready for what_ , but it was no use asking at least until Natasha had left. Maybe he shouldn’t ask.

“Was there anything else you wanted, Ms Romanoff?” Tony asked, still speaking with the false politeness he reserved for very rare formal occasions.

“SHIELD was wondering how your new research project is coming along.” Bruce felt his heart rate accelerate as he panicked over who had told SHIELD what they were doing. He glanced at Tony, surprised to see him still meeting Natasha’s steely but polite façade.

“It’s been going surprisingly well actually.” He said airily, a beam on his face. Bruce couldn’t understand what was going on, knew he must be missing something because Tony wouldn’t, Tony _can’t_ have betrayed him. “We could do with more samples though; it’s been a challenge persuading people to co-operate without a big research name behind us. It’s certainly looking interesting but we just don’t have the data for anything concrete enough to report back to SHIELD.”

“Is this your way of asking for more funding?” Tony just shrugged, and Natasha gave him a small, knowing smile. “I can ask for you, Stark, but I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. People are starting to get irritated by your thinking that you can get whatever you want.”

Even Bruce, who could hold a poker face amongst the best of them, couldn’t hold back a snort at that. He was at the point where he found Tony’s arrogance almost _endearing_ ; it was so engrained in his character, but Bruce knew it was mostly a façade. Intellectually and academically, Tony was one of the least arrogant people Bruce had ever worked with. Natasha sent him a curious look, while Tony protested in mock outrage.

“I don’t think I can get whatever I want.” Tony said heatedly, throwing a crumpled ball of paper towards the waste bin from across the room. It bounced off the wall and fell a few feet short, joining a scattering of similarly discarded bits of crap from the last few days. One day, someone was going to have to clear all that up, and God knows it wasn’t going to be Bruce. “I _know_ I can get whatever I want. So, tell SHIELD I’m going to need more funds directed my way if they want this research going anywhere.”

Natasha tutted quietly, before switching the cool corporate smile back on. “I’ll be sure to pass on your concerns, Mr. Stark. I think that will be all.”

“A pleasure as always, Ms Romanoff. Since you let yourself in so easily, I imagine you can let yourself out.” Tony said, dropping back onto the couch without another look.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark. Nice to see you again, Dr. Banner.”

The elevator beeped as it began to return to the lobby, and Bruce turned to Tony in confusion. “What the fuck was any of that about? What was going on with Natasha? What research? And since when are you taking money from SHIELD?”

Tony laughed, patting the cushion next to him in an invitation for Bruce to sit back down. He did, reluctantly. “Fake cover up research, remember? SHIELD offered a research grant for it, so I took it. It would have been suspicious not to, just as it would have been suspicious for me _not_ to have asked for more. It’s not ideal, and I can tell you’re uncomfortable with taking SHIELD’s money, but think of the irony, Bruce! They’re inadvertently funding a massive backfire. We’re going to tear their credibility to shreds and they’re funding every last penny.”

Bruce didn’t even know what to think any more. Living with Tony was like constant whiplash—one story one minute, a different one the next, never knowing what is the truth and what is Tony’s bullshit. Just as he thought they were on the same page, Tony swapped out the whole fucking book. He just didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t _fair_ , keeping Bruce in the dark like this. He was always chasing an explanation. “And Natasha?”

“SHIELD knows we’re friends. You might not have noticed but they’re hardly the most honourable of government organisations. Like, I wouldn’t say it’s _corrupt_ , but nor would I say it’s uncorrupted, if you catch my drift.”

Bruce stared. “You think they’re spying on us?”

“On us, on me, on my work, on our research. They’ve barely left me alone since Garrett fired me.” Tony’s voice didn’t waver, practised at sounding like he didn’t give a fuck what SHIELD did, and if Bruce hadn’t gotten to know him over the past few weeks, he might have believed it. But his eyes, usually bright, had hardened in bitterness.

“What does Garrett actually do?” Bruce asked curiously. He’d heard the name mentioned in a number of contexts, by Tony, by Clint, but he hadn’t been able to piece together much about his job from the snippets of information, and his title and manner when they met indicated more bureaucracy than anything threatening.

“He oversees everything and anything to do with Matching, but everyone knows it’s Auto that he keeps an eye on the most. He was technically my boss at SHIELD, but he never really gave me any shit because he only got the position when I turned it down.”

“SHIELD offered _you_ a job?” Bruce said incredulously. A pretty high level job, if he understood what Tony was saying. He couldn’t imagine Tony working in cahoots with politicians like that, with all its pretences and red tape.

Tony laughed, a genuine laugh. “My thoughts exactly. I could only just accept the fact that I worked with the government, let alone actually having any part in running it. I used to work pretty closely with him, and we were a… a _good_ team. I was the brains, the science, and he was... well, the sleazy politician desperate for power.”

“And, what? He took credit for your research?”

Tony shook his head. “Nah, everyone knew he didn’t have a single scientific thought in his head. And people liked me. I have this way of charming everyone’s socks off; you probably noticed.” He added with a smirk, as Bruce rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “No, he had a lot of respect for my ideas and my contributions. We worked together brilliantly for ten years, completely re-hauled how we approach testing Matches, got rid of a few redundant and frankly disturbing rituals, made the whole thing much more efficient and saved SHIELD millions of dollars. And then I turned twenty eight with no sign of a Match. Oh, did I mention he is the most bigoted person I’ve ever met?” He said bitterly. “It got… unpleasant, more and more so as I got closer to thirty and no one that looked like a Match had magically appeared. He fired me the day after the big three zero.”

Bruce felt a giant pang of guilt, because Tony _knew_ about him by then. He should have been there, Matched, and Tony wouldn’t have lost his job. He wondered if Tony blamed him. “Is he allowed to do that?” He asked eventually, trying to quell his thoughts.

“Nope.” Tony said, obnoxiously popping the ‘p’. “I could have sued SHIELD, I guess. I might have won, even. But they counted on the fact I didn’t want it plastered across the tabloids that _Tony Stark_ couldn’t find a Match or that I was some fucking freak, and neither did my father’s investors at Stark Industries. I can’t imagine what that would have done to the share prices overnight; we’d have been sunk. So SHIELD paid me off with a frankly ridiculous sum, and I reinvested it into the company and opened the green energy division and here I am, five years later. Pretty much no responsibilities since I handed CEO over to Pepper, and I’m rolling in the dollar.”

“But Garrett got away with it.”

“Well, yeah.” Tony let out a deep sigh. “C’est la vie.”

Bruce wasn’t really sure how to respond to that. It _was_ life; Tony was right. Depressingly, yes, getting fired for turning thirty and being single was a genuine reality of the world they lived in. It shocked him that people thought _that_ was acceptable, that SHIELD had managed to convince people—convince themselves—so thoroughly that Unmatched people were fundamentally, intrinsically different. And that they deserved such abuse because of it. “C’est la vie.” He repeated bitterly.

They didn’t move from the couch. They didn’t say anything else. They just sat, and _wallowed_ in the situations life had dumped on them. After a few minutes, Tony’s fingers began to drum on the arm of the sofa, a harsh sporadic rhythm that Bruce couldn’t make sense of in his head. His eyes were closed, clearly lost in something else, and he couldn’t help but watch, entranced as the genius’ mind worked away. Tony Stark, who has more brilliant thoughts in one hour than most people do in their entire lives. Tony Stark, who has spent weeks of his time and countless dollars working with him, trusting him with no questions asked. Tony Stark, the enigma.

“Sir, Steve Rogers is on his way to the penthouse.” JARVIS said loudly, causing Tony’s eyes to snap open, the drumming to stop. Bruce knew that look—he needed to vent his thoughts before they escaped him, and Tony preferred to do that alone. He ducked into the bathroom, figuring that he should probably shave or something if Steve was coming up. Barely a moment of his time has been spent doing anything but working, sleeping or eating over the past week, and he had the beginnings of an actual beard occupying his chin region right now. And he looked a total mess.

By the time he’d roughly hacked as much of the fur from his face as possible, gone to the toilet, cleaned his teeth for God knows what reason, and washed his hands three times, he figured Tony had had enough time. He opened the door, and there was Steve.

“What’s with all the social visits today?” Tony grumbled, handing Steve a coffee before sitting on the opposite couch. “Made one for you too, Brucey.” He sat down next to Tony and took the drink—not that he needed any more caffeine, but hey, who cares?

Steve raised an eyebrow at the nickname but didn’t say anything, to Bruce’s relief, because he was pretty sure Tony had never called him ‘Brucey’ before. He couldn’t decide if he _entirely_ hated it. “Natasha said she’d stopped by.” He said. “She asked for me to tell you that she ‘wants to know the full story’. I’m guessing that means something more to you than it does to me?”

Bruce frowned—the full story about what?—but Tony just snorted in exasperated amusement. “Of course she does. Was that all you came up for? Hardly worth your time, Rogers, you could have phoned.”

Steve scowled, took a long drink from his cup. Tony, too engrossed in teasing and sniping as usual, hadn’t seen what Bruce could see sticking out like a sore thumb. Steve looked nervous as _hell_. There were drops of perspiration beading at the nape of his neck, and his hands clutched at the drink like it was a lifeline. Bruce had only met the guy a handful of times but even to him it was _obvious_. “Steve? Are you okay?” He asked cautiously, sitting forward a little to get a better look at him.

He looked up hastily, smiling widely, happily. Still nervously, though. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He reassured them, and it sounded legit to Bruce at least. “Bucky thought I should just put a message on that WhatsApp thing, but I wanted to come and tell you properly.”

Now even Tony’s interest was piqued. He was god damn nosey motherfucker, that was certain. “Tell us what?” He said gleefully, and Steve smiled again, pulling his sleeve back to reveal a circle of midnight blue leather, so dark it was almost black, covering a half inch of his wrist. It was beautiful, a simple metal clasp holding it in place, and Tony immediately jumped up and sat next to Steve to get a closer look.

“You actually fucking did it?” He asked, faking incredulity. “And here I was thinking that you were too busy getting your knickers in a twist to ever work up the courage.”

Steve chuckled lightly, unclasping it and handing it to Tony to examine. Bruce, unable to help himself, moved around to look at its details too. It was embossed with a fine print, the words ‘til the end of the line’ wrapping around the inside of the strap. Steve looked immensely proud of it. “Congratulations, Steve.” Bruce grinned, knowing how much this meant to him, to Bucky. These few weeks with Tony had completely changed his perspective; even if Matching _wasn’t_ real, what did it matter if it made people as happy as it had clearly made Steve? Or Barton, or Pepper, or Jane, or anyone else in his limited circle of friends.

Tony handled the bracelet with more reverence than Bruce had ever seen him treat anything before. Stroking a thumb lightly over the leather, feeling the grooves of the lettering under his touch, he looked up at Bruce, and _fuck,_ there were tears pricking the corners of his eyes. This was what he’d deprived Tony of, all those years ago. His stubbornness, his refusal to accept that he was wrong had made him so unapproachable that Tony was forced to forego this experience.

He stepped away from the couch, backed towards the elevator, a lump rising in his throat. “Bruce…” Tony forced the word out from teeth gritted in determination, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.

“I’m fine.” Bruce said quietly. “I’m fine.” _I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine._ He repeated the words over and over until they no longer sounded like words, but it barely glossed over the surface. He _wasn’t_ fine. He was selfish and stupid and stubborn, but for once in his life, he couldn’t just run away. He forced himself to sit back down on the other couch. Tony relaxed the grip on the bracelet he was still holding, and handed it back to Steve, who fastened it around his wrist once more.

“It really is beautiful, Steve. I’m so fucking happy for you both.”

“Thanks Tony. Thanks Bruce.” He said uncertainly, looking from one to the other. Bruce tried to relax his posture, tried to tear himself from the taunting voices in his head, but he was struggling to stay above the surface—let alone breathe. “We’re going to the Matching Offices two weeks on Saturday. We’re having a small party afterwards, just close friends. I… We hope you will both be there.”

“Of course we’ll be there.” Bruce said immediately, thankful that his voice didn’t shake. Tony nodded, following his lead.

“Wouldn’t dream of missing it, Rogers.” Tony added airily, patting him firmly on the back.

“And before you start, we don’t want any gifts.” Steve said firmly.

“Of course.” He breezed, before sending Bruce a not at all subtle wink. “You’re assuming that I would have got you anything anyway.”

Steve excused himself shortly afterwards, off to tell some more people the good news. Tony’s eyes followed him until the elevator door closed, then he collapsed back onto the couch next to Bruce. “About time too. This has been nearly fifteen fucking years in the making, and I seriously don’t understand why Steve waited so long.”

“Fifteen years?” Bruce asked, trying to figure out the implications of that. “They Matched when they were kids? That’s kind of weird, right?”

“Banner, how was none of this explained to you? Jesus.” Bruce shrugged. His Sex and Matching Ed classes in high school were horrendous and always full of disruptions, either from the jocks attempting to create condom balloon animals or conservative parents barging in and attempting to teach them that you must keep yourself pure and abstinent or your Match won’t manifest. “Animaphiline kicks in with puberty, just another one of many hormone overloads. You can meet your Match and touch them as much as you fucking want before your balls drop and you won’t have a clue.”

“Barton went to school with them, and apparently the two of them have always been joined at the hip. Bucky defended Steve when he got in a fight and, well, you know Steve. Loyal as a fucking Golden Retriever, that boy.” Tony laughed, and yeah, that comparison fit beautifully. “Knowing your Match as a kid is messy, though. Apparently our Stevie was a bit of a late bloomer. Buck touches Steve one day, and _zap_ , he’s in it for life. Meanwhile Steve’s dating a cheerleader, making out in the corridors, all that high school shit.”

Tony was clearly enjoying his recount of Steve’s high school awkwardness and Bucky’s pained and distant pining, grinning broadly. “He had to wait two whole years, the poor kid. Bucky’s a senior, Steve’s a junior, and they’re getting ready for Homecoming. Their hands brush against each other and boom, there it is. They like, pounce on each other and start making out and Bucky damn near instantly comes in his pants.”

Bruce shook his head slightly in disbelief. “There’s no way that last bit is real.”

“Ask him yourself.” Tony said smugly. Right. Because Bruce was totally going to go up to Steve Rogers, a guy who could easy snap him in half if he wasn’t such a fucking softie, or Bucky Barnes, who let’s face it, still scared the shit out of him, and ask if he spunked in his pants before Homecoming. Not going to happen.

“Two years, right? It must have been hell for the guy, having to see your Match with someone else like that.”

Tony looked up at him, his face unreadable. “Bruce, don’t—”

“Five years.”

“Bruce, don’t do this to yourself. It’s not your fault.”

Bruce snorted. “It kind of feels like my fault.”

“It’s not anyone’s fault!” Tony snapped. Bruce had his head in his hands, elbows on his knees to hide his face from Tony, because despite what he said, this was his fault. Whatever it was that was wrong with him, whatever it was that meant _he_ didn’t spunk his pants immediately after shaking Tony’s fucking hand at that stupid conference… Yeah, this was his fault.

Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, pulled him back upright. “Not. Your. Fault.” He repeated.

“I saw your face when you were holding that bracelet. I kept that from you, I—”

His first thought was that he was pretty sure people only shut other people up by kissing them in movies. His second thought was that this was the first time Tony had kissed _him_ , not the other way around. “Shhh…” Tony murmured soothingly against his lips. “You’re here now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bruce managed before Tony’s lips were back on his. It was slow, lazy, aimless—the kind of kiss that people have because they _can_ , because there was nothing better to do. He relaxed into Tony’s touch, the kiss deepening slightly and _fuck_ yes, these were the kind of kisses Bruce’s life had been short of. Stolen filthy moments in clubs or bars were never this _thorough,_ but just a means to an end. Tony sought no end, at least not today, and the knowledge of that was as comforting as the scratching of Tony’s goatee across his chin, the feel of Tony’s tongue against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and apologies again for the delay! :P You can find me on tumblr [here](http://scibros.tumblr.com) (come yell at me if I forget again)


	10. Chapter 10

“Morning.”

Tony groaned under his breath lightly, tucked his head more firmly into the crook of Bruce’s neck. He’d thought his bed downstairs was comfortable but Tony’s was a whole new level. He was 90% sure the pillows were actually made of clouds, but for some reason Tony had decided that using his bony shoulder was a better alternative.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a really intense cuddler?” He asked with a smirk. Vulnerable sleepy Tony was a revelation—the only word for it was _adorable_ , bed mussed hair sticking in all directions and a dopey expression on his usually alert face. Tony just groaned again, curled up against Bruce’s side closer still, his body pressed along the length of Bruce’s from shoulder to knee.

Tony totally had morning wood.

He wasn’t completely hard, but was definitely popping at least a semi, and to Bruce’s surprise, he wasn’t even freaking out about it. “Tony.” He said, poking him in the shoulder. He stirred slightly, but didn’t show any signs of waking up properly. God, he slept like a damn log. “Tony!” Nope, nothing. “Anthony Edward Stark!” He said firmly, and Tony jolted awake, nearly head-butting Bruce in the chin as he sat upright.

“Wha—” He started, then looked around squinting even though it was pretty much pitch black, thanks to his remarkably effective black out blinds. “Bruce, what the fuck? It’s the weekend, I want a damn lie in.”

“It’s half eleven in the morning, and you’re supposed to be picking Jane and Thor up at one.” He said defensively, flicking the bedside lamp on. “Also, you were jabbing your dick in my hip.”

Tony flushed, as if he’d been hoping Bruce hadn’t noticed. “Oh, right. Yeah. Sorry.” He muttered, bunching the bed sheet around his crotch like that would make Bruce forget that he had a painfully obvious erection.

“Don’t need to be sorry.” Bruce shrugged. They sat in silence for a minute or so, neither one wanting to make the first move into the shower. Tony, because of his obvious dick situation, and Bruce because… well, he was building up the courage to ask. They’d been sharing Tony’s bed since they got back from Berlin, figuring there wasn’t much point taking a _backwards_ step, but this was the first time either of them had woken up hard. “Can I jerk you off?” Bruce blurted eventually.

Tony damn near fell off the bed. “B-Bruce, what…”

“I want to jerk you off.” He repeated, sounding much more confident. “Particular emphasis on the word _want_.” He added, because who needed to be a mind reader when Tony’s thoughts were so damn clear on his face.

“I…” He hesitated, trying to come up with a genuine reason why he would say no. “Y-Yeah. Sure.” He managed eventually, sitting back against the headboard. He looked half way between nervous and excited, like he desperately wanted it but didn’t know if Bruce actually wanted to give it.

Bruce grinned and kicked the blankets to the foot of the bed, and Tony was definitely harder than he was a moment ago. He lifted his hips a little to push his boxers down his legs, allowing his dick to spring free. Bruce’s mouth dried up a little—the memory of the last time he’d been so close to Tony’s dick came rushing back, but he pushed it aside. This was different. Tony wasn’t a stranger—he was… well, he was _Tony_. His Tony. Much more than a stranger, even if he wasn’t something he could label right now. And this time, he really genuinely did want to do this more than anything.

He licked a long stripe up the palm of his hand—he was sure Tony had some kind of fancy lube stashed in the room somewhere but he really couldn’t be bothered to look for it—and ran his hand experimentally from base to tip. He could feel the flesh stiffening more in his hand, and Tony practically purred. He had no idea how long it had been since Tony had someone else’s hand on his dick, but he’d wager it had been a while.

He gave it another pump, flicking his thumb over the head gently. He was in no rush, wanted to explore Tony’s dick thoroughly, slowly, find every damn sensitive spot and memorise it. Tony really was beautiful. He had always been able to objectively appreciate that, ever since Arizona, really, but like this—naked but for the underwear around his knees, head tossed back in pleasure despite the fact that Bruce had only just started touching him—that was fucking gorgeous. He wouldn’t be surprised if his eyes had little cartoon hearts in them, he was so entranced.

Forming a loose fist, he gave Tony a few light strokes before speeding up a little, watching Tony’s face to judge what he liked. A strangled gasp escaped from his lips as Bruce’s hand nudged underneath his cock head. “You’re really— _fuck_ —really good at that.” Tony praised him, hips eagerly thrusting up a little into his grip to fuck his fist. “F-Faster?”

Bruce obliged, increased the frequency of his strokes while still attempting to catch that sensitive spot as often as he could. He drew his other hand to Tony’s balls, running his fingers across the tight skin to test Tony’s response. He moaned, a tiny spurt of pre-come coming from the tip of his dick. Bruce swiped his thumb, gathered the drop and slicked it down Tony’s dick, providing a little more lubrication.

Tony had let his eyes flutter closed, his head knocking softly on the fabric covered headboard. His teeth had captured his bottom lip, drawing them to a bright red. He was pretty sure that no one had ever looked this fucked out from just receiving a hand job. Bruce’s own dick had also taken an interest, twitching in his boxers at the sight of Tony so exposed, so relaxed, so fucking beautiful. “Tony, _god_.” He muttered. He kept up his faster pace as he laid a kiss on Tony’s collarbone. “You’re so damn pretty.”

Tony directed Bruce’s head back towards his mouth, released his lip in order to meet Bruce’s bruising kiss. They didn’t need anyone to tell them they were Matched—fuck animaphiline, fuck SHIELD—this was it. Their kiss was perfectly balanced: passionate, familiar and just a little bit desperate. Bruce reached down to cup Tony’s balls again, timed it perfectly with a flick of the wrist, firm pressure on _that_ spot, and Tony moaned into his mouth as he came all over his own chest.

Bruce continued to stroke him through his orgasm, stopping only when every drop had been milked and Tony’s moans of pleasure turned into whimpers of oversensitive discomfort. Bruce passed Tony a tissue from the bed side table, and he wiped away most of the come marking his body. “Shit.” He said quietly, collapsing into his mountain of pillows. “That… _shit_.”

“Best hand job you’ve ever had?” Bruce smirked, because for all his awkwardness, he had in his lifetime received many a compliment about his hand job skills.

“Honestly? Better than most blow jobs I’ve ever had.” He confessed. Bruce laughed, because God, if Tony was that impressed with his hand, he should see what he could do with his mouth. Bruce shoved his hand into his own pants, too horny right now to even pull them down, and came hard into a tissue with Tony’s name on his lips.

“Hey!” Tony said, affronted. “Maybe I wanted a go.”

Bruce shrugged, tossing the tissue aside. “No time, soldier. We got guests to pick up. Can you wait until later?”

Tony pretends to think about it, trying to control the smile threatening to spread across his face. “Depends. Can I suck you off later?”

Bruce pulled a face. “You’ve always got to one up me, haven’t you, Stark? Insatiable.”

*

They waited in the arrivals lounge with a quickly scrawled sign reading ‘Jane Foster & Thor’—Bruce didn’t want to even attempt spelling his surname—but it really wasn’t necessary. Thor cleared pathways through crowds wherever he went as a result of his imposing height and muscle mass, and Jane practically leapt into his arms as soon as Thor spotted them, discarding her luggage to the floor. “God, Bruce, I’ve missed you.” She said, grinning as she refused to let go of him. “ _Tony Stark,_ of all people to get paired for Auto with. Small world, huh?”

“Well—” Bruce started, but Tony shot him a warning look, so he stopped. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Hi.” He said, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you again, Ms Foster.” She raised an eyebrow at him, as if assessing to decide if she forgave him for drunkenly hitting on her that one time, before pulling him in for a hug too.

“Thanks for looking after him.” She said quietly, intending for Bruce not to hear.

“I can hear you, you know.” He said hotly. “And I don’t need looking after, thank you very much. If anything, _I_ look after _him_. I had to fire extinguish the toaster last week because he attempted to make grilled cheese.”

“Oh, come on, Bruce. That was JARVIS’ fault, not mine!”

“The world is not yet ready for robot sentient _toaster ovens_ , Tony. It’s a terrible idea and I refuse to let you consider it any longer.”

Jane failed to hold back her laughter, watching the two of them exchange banter like they’d been doing it for years. “So you’re getting on okay, then?”

Bruce shrugged, looking down at the floor. He hadn’t anticipated how humiliated he would feel when he jumped at the opportunity to see Jane again. He didn’t regret it—she was still the closest thing he had to a friend of his own—but she’d seen him at his worst. She’d tried to talk him down when his propositions span out of control, and she’s been right the whole time. “Yeah, I guess. Tony’s… nice.”

“There’s a lot of words I’d use to describe Tony, but _nice_ wouldn’t be the first one that pops into my head.” She laughed. Bruce clenched his fists a little; Jane had only met him a handful of times. She had _no_ idea, and she didn’t know him like Bruce did. He forced himself to take a deep breath and relax, and Jane didn’t notice him tense up. “I told you Automatic Matches could work out.” She said, sounding just a little smug, and Bruce snapped.

“He’s not my Auto.” The words burst from Bruce’s mouth before he could stop them, but he couldn’t stand hearing Jane sound so damn proud of herself. He knew she wasn’t gloating intentionally, but it pissed him off all the same.

“What?”

“Bruce…” Tony muttered, glancing around at the throngs of people surrounding them. “Maybe we can save this for later, yeah?”

“Save what until later?” Jane demanded, turning to Tony now with a look of confusion and anger. “Did you reject the Match? What’s going on?”

“ _Nothing._ ” Tony said emphatically, attempting to steer her towards where they parked the car, but she slapped his hand away.

“You might not care about Bruce, but _I_ do, Stark, and if you don’t explain what is going on right now, I swear to God, I’ll—”

“You think _I_ don’t care about Bruce? Maybe you should shut up about things you don’t understand, Foster.”

“Tony, Jane, come on, calm down, please. You’re making a scene.” Bruce protested, feeling unbelievably embarrassed and yet simultaneously flattered that his Match and his best friend were fighting over him.

It was Thor, inevitably, who calmed the whole thing over. “How about we all get in the car?” He boomed, stepping in between Tony and Jane before they started clawing each other’s eyeballs out. “Tony and Bruce can explain themselves when we get back to the tower.”

“Thank you.” Tony breathed, giving Thor a pat on the shoulder—or, well, the upper arm, because Tony really wasn’t that tall. “Listen to Thor. Everyone shut up and get in the car.” Bruce glared at him, and Jane just huffed under her breath.

“I call shotgun!” Thor said immediately, oblivious to the building tension, and everyone in unison groaned. “Too late, Bruce.” He said with a wide grin, and sat himself happily in the front seat. Bruce looked at him in vague disbelief, but Tony looked used to the fact that Thor apparently behaved like a seven year old.

Bruce sat, reluctantly, in the back. By the time they arrived at the tower, Jane had just about bored a hole into his skull from a (rightfully) pissed off glare.

“You seriously think we’re being followed?” Bruce asked immediately upon the elevator doors closing.

Tony, squashed in the opposite corner, shrugged. This thing was really not designed for Thor. “They sent Natasha in—they must suspect something. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but it’s better that than the alternative.”

“Seriously, what are you two wrapped up in?”

The doors opened and they spilled out into the lounge. “He’s not my Auto, okay? He’s my Match. Like, actual legit animaphiline soulmate biological Match.”

Jane just gawped at him in confusion. “But that’s… When? How?”

“In Phoenix, at that conference.” Tony interjected, taking a seat casually while the other three stood tense in the middle of the room. “Back in, what? 2010?”

“You… You Matched _five_ years ago.” She said quietly, looking from Bruce to Tony and back again. He knew what she was thinking—all his insistence, all his research and bravado that Matching wasn’t real and he’d been Matched the entire time. “And you didn’t know?”

Bruce held up his hands in defence. “I didn’t feel anything, okay! Everyone’s saying you can’t miss it but I clearly managed to. Either that or the world just doesn’t want me to be happy.”

“Wait. Wasn’t 2010 the year we had to come home early?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not exactly relevant. I mean, it was because I was—” Bruce froze mid-sentence. Nope. No, that can’t have been… “ _Fuck_. You have got to be screwing with me.”

“What?” Tony demanded. “Why did you go home early?”

Jane was totally right. 2010, they’d been forced to go home early because he’d come down with food poisoning, or so they’d thought. One minute he was fine, and the next minute, Darcy, Jane’s intern, had managed to take a perfectly timed picture of him projectile vomiting through his fingers all over the hotel carpet. Bruce groaned. “I got sick.” He explained as vaguely as he could. This entered into the most embarrassing moments of his life right at the top.

“You blew chunks all over the corridor.” Jane clarified with a snort. “Only you could meet your Match and be physically sick as a result.”

Bruce blushed, looking at Tony sheepishly. “I’m sorry—”

But even Tony was laughing. “I’m that repulsive, am I, Banner? How lovely. Well, it explains why I didn’t see you again that weekend. Of all the embarrassing Matching stories, this is by far the worst.”

Thor laughed loudly. “It’s actually worse than Jane running me over.”

“Twice.” Jane added, not at all apologetic. “Come on, it did more damage to the car than it did to you.”

“So when are you getting registered? I heard that Steve and Bucky have finally set a date.” Thor grinned, stupidly excited because he just loved any cause for celebration.

“We can’t.” Bruce said flatly, and Thor’s face fell visibly. “SHIELD aren’t going to believe that we’re Matched. We’re stuck in the Auto system until we can prove it.” Tony called up their research, spreading it around the room, and Jane’s mouth fell open.

“What—”

“We tested the levels of animaphiline in the blood of known Auto Matches, and there was a distinct pattern. Hormone levels are low, practically zero in some cases, for every single volunteer. JARVIS, add data for Tony Stark and Bruce Banner.” Their dots appeared on the graphs, sitting as far as possible from the cluster of dots at the bottom. “That’s us. Animaphiline exceeding 1000mg/cl. Add data for Clinton Barton and Virginia Potts.” The AI added two more points next to theirs, the data Bruce had collected from Clint while Tony was in Berlin and one that Pepper had agreed to give them to corroborate their findings when they returned to New York. It was pretty conclusive. “Clint Barton and Pepper Potts have both been Matched for years. It’s fairly indicative at this point, but it won’t be enough for SHIELD.”

Jane eyed it, took a step towards the suspended graph closest to her to get a better look. “It was enough to change Bruce’s mind. That’s got to mean something.”

Bruce laughed. “Some parts of SHIELD are apparently even more unreasonable than I am, if you can believe it. They _really_ don’t like being wrong.”

“We’ll prove it one day.” Tony said with total confidence, which was more than could be said for Bruce’s faith in the matter. “Until then, we’re on Auto.”

It could be worse, Bruce conceded. It was only because of Tony’s influence that he found himself in New York at all—he could have been Matched to someone else, thousands of miles away and never known that Tony had been waiting for him for years. They were together, even if it was in a way viewed as inferior to _proper_ Matching, and the sex thing was… well, it was going okay, he thought. Three weeks left. Three weeks was long enough.

It had to be.

“So you guys are sticking around for dinner tonight, right?” Tony asked brightly, changing the mood in an instant. “Everyone’s coming. It’s gonna be great.”

Bruce was slightly worried by ‘everyone’ for there were apparently many people in Tony’s large circle of friends that he was yet to meet, preferring to stay in the tower with a book than join Tony in his frequent socialising. These dinners were a ritual, Tony had told him. He was fine around people like Natasha or Steve or Pepper, people who he had met before, but Bruce had no idea how to introduce himself to the rest of Tony’s friends. Does he say he’s Tony’s Match, because that’s technically true, or Tony’s Auto because that’s far easier to explain?

“That was our intention.” Thor beamed. “We were going to stay in the city until Steve and Bucky’s party, in fact.”

“I have a lot of holiday time.” Jane whispered to Bruce with a grin.

Tony eventually sensed Bruce’s desire to spend some time with Jane, so dragged Thor away from his Match’s side with the promise of hot chocolate and brownies in the Starbucks the next block over. Bruce laughed quietly as Tony tried to explain that _no_ , neither Jane nor Bruce wanted to join them, before practically stuffing him in the elevator with physical force.

They looked across the coffee table at each other for a moment. “I’m so sorry.” Bruce blurted at the exact instant Jane asked “So everything is really all right, then?”

“Everything’s fine.” He said hurriedly.

“You don’t need to apologise to me, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head. “I wasted your time and funding on some stupid vanity project. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I was just… so damn angry. Everything you did for me, I threw back in your face.”

“You also literally threw a cup of tea back in my face once, if you want to apologise for that, too.” Bruce winced, but Jane waved a hand dismissively and smiled. “Bruce, I’m joking. You really don’t need to apologise to me. You had every right to be angry, and you might not have been, well… Right—”

“Or anything residing on the same planet as right.” He muttered under his breath.

“But your intuition was spot on. There is something going on with Matching—you and Tony have proved that—it just wasn’t exactly what you thought. And besides, in what I must say is a beautiful twist of irony, it was actually Stark Industries, and SHIELD’s money you were wasting, not mine. Keep wasting it, I say.”

“Oh, I am.” He smirked, because he was pretty sure Tony hadn’t bothered running Bruce’s employment, or the subject of their research past Pepper before they started, and what wasn’t coming from SHIELD was coming from Stark. And actually, what was coming from SHIELD was coming from Stark anyway. “Everything really is all right.” He said quietly, in answer to her question. “It’s been, uh… weird. But Tony’s actually kind of great, under the arrogant facade and all of the bravado.”

“Please tell me Initiation doesn’t still apply to Automatic Matches.” She said desperately.

He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “Yeah, no that’s… That’s still a thing. But it’s okay.” Bruce said, trying to keep his voice level, trying to stop Jane looking at him like that. She had known him for a long time, long enough to notice that he just did not do casual sex. Ever. “He’s not pressuring me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Jane was clearly sceptical, probably as conscious of the date as Bruce was himself. “So you haven’t done it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“But… Nothing?”

He shrugged, a coy smile tugging on his lips. “Well. This morning, I kinda…” He made a crude but perfectly explanatory hand gesture, and Jane laughed lightly, visibly less tense. “And we kiss a lot. He’s a great kisser. Like… really great.” He blushed, a little embarrassed by how much he was telling her, but she seemed reassured by his evidence that everything genuinely was okay. “Tony might be annoying as hell, but I really do like him, Jane. We’re taking it as slow as we can, given the time restraints, but I don’t want to lose him.”

“You seem happier than you were the last time I saw you.”

The last time she’d seen him, he’d thought SHIELD was selling his life away to some random stranger, so yeah, he would be concerned if he looked _less_ happy now, but Bruce knew what she meant. And honestly, he was happier. He’d never thought of himself as the kind of person who needed someone else to make them happy, but Tony wasn’t just someone else. It was like Tony was part of him, and he was part of Tony, and God it sounded ridiculous but they were _better_ together, more complete. People romanticised Matches as soulmates when he knew it was pure biology, but it worked pretty well as an analogy on a more spiritual level. “I am happier.” He said finally. “I can’t believe I ever thought that this might not be real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks a bunch for reading! I'm on tumblr as [ scibros](http://scibros.tumblr.com) :)


	11. Chapter 11

The party was in full swing, Tony’s friends gathered in the lounge en masse. Everyone knew each other, everyone was chatting comfortably, but Bruce could probably name barely half of the people there. Tony had tried to introduce him to each person as they walked in, but eventually there were just _too many_ , and he’d been swept away to the bar to mix someone his speciality cocktail.

His Match had a speciality cocktail. Seriously. How was this pairing feasible again?

Tony was in his element, mixing drinks and handing out flutes of champagne and generally being a good host. He thrived on it, on the attention that everyone was paying him. Bruce, on the contrary, was hovering awkwardly out of the way, trying not to draw attention to himself or attract any embarrassing questions about how he knew Tony. Pepper had stuck with him for a bit, but she was pulled away eventually, promising to be back soon. That was nearly an hour ago.

“Looking lost, Banner.”

Bruce recognised that voice, a gentle charming lilt that should make his skin crawl, yet it was oddly comforting. Out of all of Tony’s friends, Natasha was the one he was still most on the fence about, but Tony trusted her, and Pepper too, and that was just about good enough for him. “Ms Romanoff.” He said politely, turning to face her. She looked beautiful, red hair contrasting sharply with a deep blue dress, daringly split up her thigh. “Pepper said you weren’t going to be able to make it tonight.”

She smiled serenely, handing him a glass of champagne from the bar. He accepted it, not mentioning the fact he wasn’t much of a drinker. “Well, I don’t tend to accept invitations in advance. I’m not a great fan of people knowing where I’m going to be.”

He was pretty capable of reading between the lines. “If you don’t trust SHIELD, why do you still work for them?” Bruce asked bluntly, trying to sound sure of himself and hoping Natasha didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping the stem of his glass. He couldn’t get his head around this situation at all; he really didn’t want to know what Natasha thought might happen at a god damn dinner party that would make that information worth anyone’s while.

“I’m good at my job.” She said by way of an explanation, taking another sip of her drink. “The wine is fantastic, incidentally.” She indicated Bruce’s untouched flute, and he brought it to his mouth awkwardly. He didn’t drink any as much as just splash it against his lips, but Natasha seemed appeased. Maybe he was being paranoid, but this didn’t feel like the kind of company around whom he could safely let his guard down.

“Why are SHIELD keeping tabs on Tony?” He asked flatly, not bothering with the preamble.

Natasha laughed loudly, a pretty, twinkling giggle that was remarkably convincing. “Follow my lead.” She said quietly and placed her hand on Bruce’s arm in a firm grip. He flinched instinctively, and she loosened it a little before steering him to the couch pressed into the far corner of the room. “Periodically laugh at something I say.” She instructed, and Bruce had no fucking idea what was going on.

“What—” He started, but she just did that laugh again, scooted ever so closer to him on the couch.

“Banner, I swear to God, for once in your life, act natural. Clint and I aren’t the only people in this room who work for SHIELD, and while I trust Barton with my life, I can’t say the same about the rest of them. If we’re talking about this, I don’t want to be overheard.”

He nodded hurriedly, starting to understand what she was doing. She sent him a sharp look and he laughed, attempting to make it sound natural. Even to his ears, it was forced.

“…It’ll do.” She said dismissively. “SHIELD have always kept tabs on Tony, ever since he stopped working for them.”

“Got fired.” Bruce corrected automatically, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Got fired, whatever. It’s not just about Tony—it’s about you, too. SHIELD have had someone from Sci-Tech monitoring your work since New Mexico, making sure you didn’t uncover anything incriminating. Not that you ever would have.” She added, completely unnecessarily, Bruce thought. “Not until you met Tony, anyway, and started asking the right questions. Garrett’s getting twitchy. He knows Tony’s research proposal is a cover up but he can’t prove it, and he can’t work out what you are really doing.” Through a combination of her brief glance at their work and information she had wheedled from Clint, Bruce was pretty sure she’d pieced enough together to have worked it out. Knowing Romanoff, she’d probably known for ages. Her request for the ‘full story’ suddenly made more sense.

Bruce laughed again, adjusted his glasses to give his hands something to do that wasn’t just shaking. Natasha looked at him approvingly. “They’re feeling threatened? So this Garrett guy, he’s got to be hiding something, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Natasha said quietly. 

“The old fake laughter thing, huh?” Barton popped up behind them out of nowhere, and Bruce damn near jumped out of his skin. “It’s an oldie, but it works. Mind if I join you?” Bruce glanced to Natasha, who merely tutted, and Barton made himself comfortable on the opposite couch. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Like you weren’t listening in, Barton. Did you at least bring us fresh drinks?”

“Nope.” Natasha scowled. “Garrett, huh? He’s a smarmy git if there ever was one. You hear he’s thinking about running for Congress?”

Bruce’s mouth gaped. “You’re joking.”

“Nothing concrete but there’s a rumour or two floating around, yeah.”

He couldn’t believe this. He might have only met the guy once, but he knew enough to think that the last thing D.C. needed was another prejudiced sleazy bigot parading their views. “Then it’s even more important that we discredit him, prove that SHIELD is lying about Auto Matches.” He said firmly, and even Clint snorted out a brief laugh. “What?”

“Everything’s so simple in your world, isn’t it? No, don’t look like that, I’m not trying to be rude. I just… I wish I lived in a world like yours, where the good guys come out on top and the bad guys get what they deserve.” He laughed again, not an attention diverting false laugh but a genuine sound of mirth. “Bless.”

“Drop the condescension, Barton.” Bruce snapped, annoyed at the man for the first time since they first met. Sure, he could be crude and irritating, but until now he’d taken his words in good humour; he’d always seemed harmless enough. But Bruce wouldn’t put up with Clint’s baseless assertions about his life. “I don’t live in that fucking world, okay? I wish I lived in that world. I live in a world where people are forced to live with strangers for their entire lives at the whim of men like Garrett. I live in a world where they can’t protest against it because the intolerance is so ingrained into our society that people like you barely acknowledge it even exists. And right now, I live in a world where I, for once in my life, actually have the power to make a small bit of difference. There’s no damn way I’m going to sit on my ass and do nothing.”

Natasha and Clint both looked at him in shocked silence, and Bruce suddenly realised how loudly he’d voiced his little rant. The entire room was silent, until one person starting clapping slowly. No-one joined in. The one person didn’t stop.

Bruce didn’t need to look behind him to know it was Tony.

“Quite a speech, Banner.” He grinned. Bruce wanted the couch to swallow him whole. “Time for dinner, maybe?”

By the time they’d all eaten, eaten some more, drank coffee by the gallon, eaten a little bit more and lightened Tony’s bar of whisky, most of the guests had slipped away with a smile and a handshake for Tony and an odd look for Bruce. Clint had been right about one thing—whether it was his wealth or just his general eccentricity, no one gave a rat’s ass that Tony too was on Auto. Everyone tried to be polite and civil, but not many bothered to talk to Bruce beyond a cursory introduction and obligatory small talk. Fortunately, the last stragglers—who showed no inclination towards going home anytime soon—were the people Bruce felt most comfortable with. Natasha and Pepper, Steve and Bucky, Jane and Thor, Barton and his Match, some guy called Coulson who Bruce hadn’t met before the party, but instantly found his way on to Bruce's good guy list, despite his seniority at SHIELD.

Tony filled everyone’s glasses for the umpteenth time, some people drunker than others, and raised his own in a toast. “To Bruce!” He yelled, and everyone was pissed or amused enough to repeat the toast without hesitation. Tony, who claimed he could hold his booze like a champ, was totally hammered. Bruce was barely tipsy, and Jane had sensibly declined any more alcohol after a couple of glasses of wine over dinner. Thor could have been drinking tap water all night for all he showed for it.

“You know,” Jane said quietly, relying on the general ruckus surrounding them to mask her words as Tony attempted to challenge Steve to a boxing match. “If you guys needed more help collecting your data, I’m more than happy to help you. Under the radar, of course, but you worked under the radar in our labs for months, so I can’t imagine it’ll be a problem.”

“SHIELD could shut you down if they found out.” He warned. “Thanks for the offer, really, but your work is too important to risk for mine and Tony’s sake. This is our fight.” She rolled her eyes, and Bruce frowned. “What?” He asked defensively.

“You’re such a martyr. It isn’t just your fight, you idiot. I’ve always supported you, and that’s not going to change. If I can help, let me help.”

Bruce sighed, looking over to where Tony was still trying to provoke Steve into throwing a punch. Thankfully Steve was too mature to fall for such schoolboy antics—or so Bruce thought, until a hard shove knocked Tony backwards into the couch, gasping for air. Bruce didn’t notice standing up to check that he was okay until Jane laid a hand on his arm. “He’s fine. They always do this when they get drunk.”

“Beat each other up?” Bruce said sceptically, and Jane snorted.

“No, Steve just messes with Tony until he gets too tired and falls asleep. If Tony lands one hit, it’s impressive. Rogers is far too sensible to do any real damage, don’t worry. Though, it’s cute how you jumped to Tony’s defence.” She teased. Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed by Jane seeing how much he cared about Tony. Bruce wanted to say that he wasn’t worried, that he didn’t jump to Tony’s defence, but okay he kind of totally did. Sometimes the man needed protecting from his own stupid ideas. Looking at him knowingly, she added. “You guys are adorable.”

He didn’t respond immediately but instinctively turned his attention to Tony and Steve again. He was relieved when Steve took Tony by the arm and forced him to sit down, pressing a pint glass of water into his hand. Thank God for Steve. Despite the fact that he had clearly lost their stupid ‘fight’, since Tony couldn’t throw a ball let alone a decent punch, he was in good spirits. “If you could help us…” He said, ever quieter. He didn’t want to put her in any risk, or take advantage of her kindness, but at the same time, they needed to work fast and having another lab to run data through could vastly improve their productivity.

Jane nodded enthusiastically. “Your work looks fascinating, Bruce. And really, really important. I’m not much of a biologist but—”

“I’m not much of a biologist.” He reminded her with a grin. “Neither is Tony, but fortunately, he turns out to be a genius at everything he sets his mind to, so we’re managing.”

“Whatever we can do to help.” She promised.

“I think Tony’s on to something.” He said, thinking back to several days previously, where Bruce had escaped to let Tony unload his thoughts before Steve arrived. “He’s definitely had an idea but he hasn’t told me about it yet, but whatever it is, I hope it’s the breakthrough we need. Everything’s too circumstantial right now; SHIELD will reject it instantly if we tried to present just what we have.”

“It’s not just showing that there’s something up at SHIELD.” Jane said, nodding in understanding. “You need incontrovertible evidence highlighting exactly where the corruption is. Something that will cause public outrage and get the most important people arrested, or at least resigning.”

“And us killed, probably.” He said, only half joking. Matching was serious shit, and God knows how high up this all went. He genuinely was a little scared that someone might just decide to keep them quiet. “I mean, there’s a chance we’ll never find it. The science behind it might not uncover enough to do any damage.”

“It will.”

She sounded sure, but Bruce had learned a long time ago to not get his hopes up. His eyes drifted, grinning at Steve who was dealing with Bucky resting against one shoulder and Tony sleeping on the other. “What time do these things normally end?”

Jane snorted. “Last one I was at didn’t wrap up until gone four in the morning.”

Bruce groaned. It was barely midnight and he was exhausted from socialising and Tony was a fucking mess and they still had a lot of work to do. Wasting the whole of another day with Tony sleeping in until six in the evening and then being too hung over to do anything wasn’t useful at all. “How do I get everyone to leave without seeming rude?”

Jane stretched, let out a fake yawn. “Thor, honey, I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll meet you back at the hotel, yeah?” Bruce watched as Thor insisted that he leave with her, and Steve and Bucky had excused themselves too before Jane had even stood up. “No-one wants to be the first to leave. As soon as people start going, everyone gets the hint.”

“Aw come on, why is everyone leaving so early?” Tony whined, having been woken by Steve shoving his head off of his shoulder unceremoniously. “The party’s barely started!”

Everyone ignored him and began to make their exits. Phil and Clint left with Natasha and Pepper, having spent the last half hour discussing SHIELD business over a bottle or three of champagne.

“C’mon, Tony.” Bruce huffed, trying to drag him up from the couch. “Don’t want you sleeping up here, you’ll only moan that your back hurts in the morning.” Pepper glanced back at them one final time before stepping into the elevator, an amused smile on her face. Bruce ignored her silent teasing; yes, okay, they kind of acted like an old married couple. With their combined levels of relentless sarcasm, it was pretty much inevitable.

Tony let Bruce lift him to his feet, smiling like an idiot. Bruce tried to let him go but could feel him about to topple over if he did, so resigned himself to half carrying, half dragging Tony into the bedroom. He dropped him on the bed while he went to the bathroom, his need to pee having won out against his concerns over leaving Tony by himself for three minutes.

By the time he returned to the bathroom, Tony had his pants around his ankles and his shirt unbuttoned, hanging off his shoulders. “Hey.” He slurred.

“Get into bed, Tony.”

“You promised.” He said with a frown, and Bruce had literally zero idea what he was referring to. Tony was torn between collapsing into bed and demanding whatever it was that Bruce had promised, swaying slightly as he managed to shed his shirt on to the floor.

“What did I promise?” Bruce humoured him, because tipsy as fuck Tony was proving to be highly entertaining. As long as he didn’t throw up on him, because God, Bruce could not be dealing with that.

He began to unbutton his own shirt, managing about three before Tony remembered how to use his words. “Promised I could jerk you off.” Bruce hesitated for a second on the next button before continuing to unfasten them.

“And you can.” He said calmly. “When you’re not drunk.”

“M’not drunk.”

Bruce snorted, pulled off his shirt and folded it into a neat square before placing it on a chair. “Sorry Tony, I didn’t quite catch that through the slurring. Come on, get into bed, you idiot.”

*

Tony woke up groaning. It was almost noon which was ridiculous because they hadn't even gone to sleep late; apparently, a few (read: many) drinks was all Tony needed to eventually get a proper night's sleep. He looked way better for it, ridiculous bed head notwithstanding, as the grey-purple shadows under his eyes had paled to a dusky pink. Bruce was starting to think that they might actually have been permanent, stained into his skin.

“I left you pills.” Bruce said, figuring that was more what Tony wanted than a good morning. Tony rolled over, snatched up the pills and swallowed three at once, before collapsing into the pillows again. JARVIS had been sensible enough to not raise the blinds; Bruce was pretty sure that was all that was necessary to make Tony's head explode at this point. “You want food?”

Tony groaned again, buried his face into the sheets. Bruce took that as a yes. Being the near sober friend, he didn't have much experience himself with hangovers but he has plenty with looking after everyone else, and he knew that the answer was always a bacon sandwich. Always. He padded out of Tony's room and into the kitchen, grabbed a frying pan and set to work. Thankfully, bacon was one of the few staples Tony always stocked. Bread was more of a gamble, but he found most of a loaf buried at the back of the freezer.

Within ten minutes, he was back in the bedroom with a tray laden with bacon sandwiches and a giant pot of coffee. Tony hadn't moved an inch. “I come bearing hangover cures.” He said brightly. “Bacon and coffee, your two favourite things.” Tony stirred slightly but showed little sign of bothering to get up. “Tony I'm fucking starving and will happily eat all of this myself of you don't get up now.”

He sat up instantly. God Tony was easy to play. Bruce might have a big appetite but he made them six sandwiches and even he couldn't manage all that by himself. Tony snatched one without uttering a word and took a giant bite. “You make the best bacon sandwiches.” He said  after devouring one and a half in the space of about three minutes. Bruce rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh at the ketchup caught up in his stupid goatee.

“I'm pretty sure every bacon sandwich is basically the same.”

“Yes, but you make them for me when I'm hungover. Thus, the best.” Tony argued with an air of definitive triumph. Bruce couldn't argue with that. They ate in silence for a few more minutes, Tony for once managing to keep up with Bruce's voracious appetite. Usually, Bruce could eat him under the table.

“You planning to get any work done today?” Bruce asked, half teasing. The volume of coffee Tony was consuming indicated he had no intention to sleep all day at least.

“We're going to work on the DNA thing, aren't we?” Bruce had no idea what Tony was referring to and told him as much. “The DNA thing.” He repeated. “Looking for Match DNA in samples—why are you looking at me like that?”

“Is this what you were thinking about the other day? Before Steve came over?”

Tony frowned. “Yeah, I... Did I forget to fill you in?”

“I think you got distracted.”

“With hand jobs?”

“Possibly. Care to elaborate?”

Tony put his coffee down to better gesticulate excitedly, a trait of his that was endlessly endearing. Bruce smiled automatically. “Well, I was thinking about how your body knows your Match before you do. Like, you have no idea who your Match might be, but you react physically when you meet them. You know, by creaming your pants or projectile vomiting.”

“Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Probably not, no.” Tony smirked. “So if your body knows, and animaphiline surges and whatever, there must be a little checklist in your hormones somewhere that's testing everyone you touch for your Match. So I thought, DNA match.” Right, sure, this made sense, but it was all observation from what Bruce could tell. He wasn't sure where Tony was going with it. Clearly his lack of excitement showed on his face, as tiny looked at him in disappointment for not working out his genius plan or whatever. “I thought, what if we could reverse it? There must be some element of your DNA in mine that means I recognised you as my Match. What if we can find it, work backwards and use that to prove that we're Matched.”

The worst thing was, it sounded kind of promising. What he said was logical, followed sound scientific reasoning, and could actually help them prove their legitimacy to SHIELD. There was one large, obvious problem though. “With what biological expertise, Tony? You're talking decoding DNA, identifying and isolating gene sequences... My biology knowledge is stretched thin as it is and no offence but you have literally zero training in anything biological at all. Genius can only take you so far.”

Tony grinned smugly. “I know a guy.”

“You know a guy? You happen to know a guy who has the talent and experience and resources to locate a string of foreign DNA in a blood sample? They'd need a biology lab to the same extent as your physics lab, privately funded, independent of SHIELD, powerful enough to stay under the radar. It sounds promising Tony, but impossible.”

Tony didn't look put out at all. “Reed Richards.”

Bruce blinked. “Reed Richards.” He repeated flatly. “As in Dr Reed Richards, the guy who bio-engineered a cure for the common cold?”

“He owes me a favour.”

“Reed Richards owes you a favour? Just casually, right. Reed Richards, the hero of the modern age of medicine, owes you a favour.”

“Yeah.” Tony said simply. “Though drop that hero of the modern age bullshit; he can be a right dick when he wants to be. You don't want to know how much money he made from that cold vaccine. He publicises donating it to dying orphans or whatever, but he's just sitting on most of it. Whatever. He'll help us.”

“I can't believe it's taken you this long to tell me that you're friends with Reed Richards.”

“I'll say it again; he's a dick. We're not really friends.”

“Well, you're also kind of a dick.” Bruce countered. “A pathetically lame dick who secretly loves puppies and sunshine and shit but doesn't want to ruin his cold dickish reputation by telling anyone.”

Tony snorted. “You think you've got me all figured out, don't you, Bruce?”

Bruce smirked. “Pretty much, yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cannot believe this fic is over 200 kudos you guys are all amazing and i love every single one of you <3
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://scibros.tumblr.com) losers


	12. Chapter 12

Okay, Tony was right. Reed Richards was an absolute dick head. Bruce had tried to introduce himself, politely held out a hand to shake, but Richards just looked at it disparagingly until Bruce let it drop. Wow. He let them in to his office reluctantly, waving a hand at two chairs on the opposite side of his desk, far less luxurious than the plush leather one on his side. “What can I help you with that is apparently so important that it can't go through my secretary?” He asked with an air of irritation, like his time was too precious to waste on them.

Bruce desperately tried to keep his face neutral, because Jesus, this guy was getting under his skin already, but they needed his help, damn it. Tony, on the other hand, looked serene and completely composed. “I'm sorry, Reed, but it's of a rather sensitive nature.” He said pleasantly. “We've hit a snag in our research that requires genetics expertise, and, well… You're the expert.”

Richards practically preened at the careful flattery; Tony clearly knew how to play this guy like a fiddle. “Your research? Both of you?” He studied Bruce more closely now, looking at him like he was a sample under a microscope. “And who actually might this be? I don't know him, do I? It's not like Tony Stark to do work with an unknown name.”

Bruce bristled. Fuck this guy. Richards wouldn’t even direct his questions to him, only asking through Tony. “I'm Dr Bruce Banner.” He said again, but Reed carried on ignoring him, looking back to Tony for confirmation. It was like he didn't even exist; if Richards hasn't heard of you, you weren't worth shit.

“Dr Banner is exceedingly well qualified, with a doctorate in biochemistry as well as further PhDs in nuclear physics and quantum theory.” Tony said firmly. Reed looked taken aback, and that just served to annoy Bruce more. Did he really look that unintelligent? “He's far more qualified than I am, in fact.” Tony tacked on, and while Bruce wasn’t sure that was true, he was touched that Tony would say it anyway.

“Then it's funny that I haven't ever heard of you.”

“Maybe you should pay more attention.” Tony responded instantly, a darker edge to his voice.

For a second, it looked like the two men would descend into petty fighting over his credentials, which while being satisfying for him, didn't move their research forward at all. If he had to put up with Reed Richards treating him like a bit of dog shit on the bottom of his expensive Italian shoes, they were at least going to get something useful out of it. “Maybe we can show you our work so far.” Bruce suggested diplomatically, attempting to get back to the matter at hand and forcing himself to stay polite.

Tony nodded, commandeering Richards' computer system to bring the data in front of his eyes, making it entirely unavoidable. Bruce watched as Reed took in the numbers, watched his excursion as he clicked the pieces into place. “You're taking on SHIELD?” He said, eyes widening in disbelief. “Look, Stark, we've helped each other out in the past, but why would I get involved in anything as risky as this? I have no intention of getting on SHIELD’s bad side. It's not worth it for me, no matter how much you're willing to pay.”

“It's funny you mention that actually.” Tony said with a grin, which was the total opposite to how Bruce felt. If Richards was a bust, this line of inquiry was dead in the water. No one else had that level of freedom and, as much as he hated to say it, ingenuity. “We weren't intending to pay you anything.”

Reed raised an eyebrow, and Bruce figured they may as well just walk out now. “So explain why you think I would get entangled in a Matching controversy and put myself firmly on SHIELD's bad side without even getting financial compensation for my time?”

“Because you owe me.” Tony said, sounding petulant even to Bruce's ears. Richards snorted with laughter. This was going desperately badly.

“Because you don't need it.” Bruce interjected, unable to help himself. “You cured the fucking common cold. Look at this place; you don't need cash. You need a challenge. Something interesting and new.”

Reed paused, considering Bruce's words. Eventually, he looked up, actually looking at Bruce properly for the first time in this fucked up little meeting. “Tell me what you've got for me,” He said, “and maybe I'll consider it.”

By the time they had left the office several hours later, Bruce knew that Reed’s consideration meant that he'd take it. Even if he didn't care about their Matching theories, didn't care about SHIELD’s lies or the fact that that there were potentially hundreds, maybe thousands, of wrongly Matched people stuck in Autos, he relished the challenge their project brought to him. Bruce imagined that Richards had been struggling to motivate himself after his mammoth achievement, and appealing to genius, to someone prone to boredom, might just make him take it for its intellectual merit, if nothing else.

Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, Richards would bring some much needed credibility to their work. Tony was an engineer more than a researcher and, as Reed had happily pointed out, Bruce was pretty much unheard of, particularly in biological sciences.

“I can't believe you pulled that off.” Tony ejaculated, pulling him into a tight hug. “You are amazing, Bruce Banner.”

Bruce stiffened at the unexpected touch, his instinct to avoid human contact kicking in automatically. Tony pulled away, immediately stepping back and bringing his hands up. “Fuck, you don’t like being touched. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He started walking back towards the car, moving so briskly that Bruce had to jog a little to catch up.

“No, you’re… You’re fine. Don’t worry about it.” Tony looked upset, Bruce could see that clearly — God, it was so embarrassing. He could jerk Tony off, or kiss him, no problem, but the poor guy tried a spontaneous hug and Bruce flat out rejected him. “Do it again.” He said firmly. For the split second between his instinctive reaction and Tony pulling away, the hug felt kind of nice.

“Bruce, you don’t have to, really.”

“Tony.” He said flatly. “Give me a fucking hug or I swear to God I will punch you in the face. If you’re pushing me too far, I will tell you.”

“You’re weird, you know that?” Tony remarked, stopping next to his car. “Get in, idiot.”

Bruce raised a clenched fist, half joking, half perfectly willing to actually punch Tony in the face, and he seemed to get his point. Rolling his eyes, he muttered “fine”, and carefully embraced him. Bruce exhaled slowly, letting himself enjoy the feeling of warm arms around him. His skin was on fire where Tony’s hands lay gently against the small of his back, heat prickling under his shirt.

Tony showed no signs of moving, entirely happy hugging him in the middle of Richards’ car park. It was a kind of novel concept, being with someone so physically comfortable around him, someone who _wanted_ to be seen with him in public. “This okay?” Tony asked, sounding a little uncertain as a good minute and a half had passed and Bruce stayed silent.

“Mhmm.” He hummed. After manoeuvring their bodies just enough to be able to touch his lips to Tony’s neck, Bruce kissed a line from his collarbone to just under his ear. “ _This_ okay?” He teased back. Tony nodded jerkily, a small whine escaping his throat.

“It’s ridiculous what that does to me.” He breathed, fingers clutching Bruce a little tighter for support. “You’re so… I… _Fuck._ ”

“When we get home, you’re going to jerk me off.” Bruce said firmly, confidently, far more confidently than he felt. He wanted this, he wanted it _so badly_ , but he was so scared he was going to freeze up again, freak out, scare Tony off for good.

“Get in the car _._ ” Tony said, unravelling himself from Bruce. He obliged, smirking a little at how easily wound up the other man was, but also rather flattered that the thought of getting _someone else_ off had got him so excited. Like touching Bruce’s dick was some kind of special honour or something.

It kind of was, but that was because Bruce was frigid, rather than because his dick was in particularly high demand.

“Speed limit.” Bruce reminded him for what felt like the seventh time at least. Tony had absolutely massacred it, driving at nearly ninety in his urgency to get back to the tower. “You won’t get home any faster if you crash, or if you get pulled over for speeding or something.” The sensible warnings only succeeded in winding him up even more, but he did obey the speed limit for a change. By the time they pulled up in front of the tower, Tony practically threw the car keys at the valet and dragged Bruce from the front seat. “You’re such a fucking tease.” He growled, tugging him into the elevator as fast as he could. Bruce let Tony push him against the back wall, hands framing his hips once more as Tony nipped at his collar bone, his neck, traced the same line of kisses up Bruce’s neck as he had earlier laid on Tony’s.

“Can I give you a hickey?” He asked hopefully, those big dorky brown eyes meeting Bruce’s. They were blown wide like a horny teenager, and Bruce really wanted to make a joke about Tony being an actual high schooler when it comes to sexy things, but he couldn’t form the words. Instead, he nodded silently, shivering a little as Tony brushed his thumb over a singular spot on Bruce’s neck.

The thought that that spot would be way too high to hide under a shirt did not occur to him.

Tony didn’t even stop kissing and biting and sucking when the elevator doors slid open, but just led Bruce in an elaborate but perfectly executed number of steps to Tony’s bedroom. Okay, that was impressive. He didn’t want to know how many times Tony had done that exact thing. They barely made it into the room before Tony spun him back against the wall, because apparently Tony had a thing for walls, pinning him there with his body flush against Bruce’s.

Bruce squeaked when Tony bit down particularly hard, but it was drawn out into a low moan as talented lips sucked on the same spot in perfect unison with a well timed hip roll. Fucking hell, Stark knew how to drive a guy crazy. He wasn’t _hard —_ he wasn’t young enough to get hard that quickly any more, thank God — but his dick was undeniably interested, twitching at the feel of Tony’s hands fisted in his hair. They were tight enough to hurt, pulling just enough to make Bruce gasp out in pain, and that only made Tony keener. “Tony, shit—” Bruce managed, and Tony detached his mouth, took a step back to admire his handiwork.

“Woah.” He said, impressed with his own hickey skills. “I possibly went slightly overboard.”

“And by slightly, you mean…” Bruce stepped forward to examine the mark in the mirror. “Fucking hell.” Tony hadn’t just gone overboard, he’d bloody ravaged the side of Bruce’s neck. The darkened bruises already blossoming on the skin stretched at least two inches across. “You’re enthusiastic, I’ll give you that much.”

Tony grinned, looking entirely unembarrassed at how badly he’d marked up Bruce. “I want you.” He said honestly, his eyes too wide, his skin too flushed for it to be a lie. He could practically hear Tony’s heart pumping a mile a minute in his chest.

That was more than enough for Bruce.

“Come on.” He led Tony to the bed, settled in against the pillows still fully clothed. He wouldn’t want to deprive him of the honour, after all, since Tony seemed to take much pleasure in these kind of things. “I want you, too.” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking — with nerves, with desire, he wasn’t sure — but God, were the words true.

Tony had followed Bruce to the bed, standing to one side to wait for an indisputable invitation. Bruce’s words seemed to suffice, as he climbed on to the bed, straddling Bruce’s thighs. “This okay?”

Bruce nodded hastily. It was definitely okay, more than okay, Tony’s weight, warm and heavy, pinning him to the bed. “Can I kiss you?” Tony asked, a hand fluttering to cup Bruce’s cheek but freezing a half inch from the skin. He nodded again, leaning in to the touch. Tony was careful, gentle, patient, and Bruce wanted nothing more in that moment than for Tony to fuck him with his tongue, make him moan against bruising hot kisses. He appreciated the thought but shit, slow and steady was the last thing he wanted right now.

“Tony—” He tried, and Tony practically tipped off of him on to the floor. Only Bruce’s quick reflexes caught him by the shoulders and stopped him from legging it to the other end of the apartment.

“Is this too much?”

Bruce rolled his eyes at the worried expression on Tony’s face, the guilt in his eyes. “No, you idiot. Not. Fucking. Enough.” He rolled his hips up to the best of his ability, trying to demonstrate the frustrating half-mast situation currently trapped in his jeans. “You’re being a total cock tease.”

Tony’s eyes widened; Bruce could practically see the lightbulb moment. “You want—”

“I want you to stop asking permission every time you want to touch me. I want you to kiss me like I’m not going to break.” He wrapped strong fingers around the back of Tony’s neck and pulled his head closer, crashing their lips together.  It was more teeth and lips than tongue, Bruce making a point to bite Tony’s bottom lip hard, teasing it between his teeth. “I know what I want, and I know want I _don’t_ want. Please, just trust me to tell you, yeah? No-one’s expecting you to be a mind reader.”

He remembered Natasha’s words from weeks ago, before he and Tony had even properly met. Not so big on communication. But it was more than that; he had the biggest guilt complex Bruce had ever seen. It wasn’t just that it was easier for Tony to absorb the blame but almost that he _liked_ it, like he knew where he stood if everything was his fault.

“I just don’t want to push you.”

“You didn’t push me last time. I pushed me. _I_ fucked up, okay.” He kissed Tony’s neck, his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Tony couldn’t hold back a smile. “Not you. Now get these clothes off of me right now or I swear—”

“You’re very persuasive.” He began from the top button, his hands brushing Bruce’s neck as he pushed the first button through the hole. Tony hesitated, but moved on to the next one before Bruce could make a disparaging noise. He made swift progress with them, the material falling open once he’d unfastened the final one. Tony couldn’t resist running his hands from the waistband of Bruce’s jeans back up to the hickey on his neck, touching the hair that covered his torso. “It’s so…”

“It’s like a rug, I know. I never really got in to, uh… I don’t know, what are the kids calling it? Manscaping?”

“Don’t you dare even think about waxing this off. It’s so fluffy.” Tony said gleefully, running his hands through it again. “I always wanted body hair like this.”

Bruce tried to imagine Tony with chest hair, and snorted. “You’d look so dumb.” Bruce reached for the hem of Tony’s t-shirt and helped the other man pull it over his head. He ran his own fingers from Tony’s collarbone to his hip, over the kind of defined muscle and taut skin Bruce could only dream of. “Nah, you’re definitely fine how you are.”

Tony glowed at the flattery, because Tony really could be incredibly vain, but he almost subconsciously touched at the scar tissue in the centre of his chest. Bruce didn’t ask; he trusted that Tony would tell him when he was ready to tell him. It wasn’t like Bruce was lying, anyway. The scarring was part of him, and certainly made Tony no less beautiful.

“This is possibly the slowest build up to a hand job in the history of hand jobs.” Bruce joked, when Tony made no move to help him out of his pants, content with exchanging lazy kisses and just stroking his chest hair. Because apparently that was a thing Tony really liked doing.

“Sorry.” Tony said, sounding entirely unapologetic. “I could always make it up to you with a blowjob instead.” He pouted his lips a little, then laughed, but Bruce’s throat had gone dry. Tony’s fucking pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, his dark eyelashes fluttering closed, fanned out across sharp cheekbones. Fucking into Tony’s mouth, feeling his dick against his throat, hearing the moans as Tony tried to keep up with Bruce’s rhythm— _fuck._ He wanted it. He really wanted it.

“Next time.” He said eventually, despite his dick trying to fight its way past the tight denim and the metal zipper at the mere thought. “Just. Just a hand is fine, this time.”

Tony seemed a little disappointed, but whatever. He’ll get over it. They have their entire lives ahead of them to suck dick.

Well, and other stuff too. But mainly just sucking dick.

Tony made quick work of the button of Bruce’s jeans, tugging the denim down Bruce’s legs as he raised his hips from the bed. His eyes scanned over the expanse of skin exposed, and Bruce blushed furiously. Tony looked _hungry,_ like seeing his pasty legs was the greatest strip tease on Earth. Tony’s stupid skinny jeans were impossible to remove sexily—even Tony, who he must assume had had plenty of experience peeling them off pre-sex, couldn’t achieve it without nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Smooth.” Bruce snorted, too amused to feel even a little embarrassed. “Although, you technically didn’t need to strip for this.”

“You don’t want to see me naked?” He asked, sounding only half like he was fake offended.

Bruce had already seen Tony naked, in fact. Even through the catastrophe that was their first ill-advised attempt he had to concede that his Match was one beautiful man, especially when nude. Smooth, taut lines of muscle blend seamlessly into one of the world’s greatest asses, and Bruce had always been an ass man. Tony was gorgeous.

“I definitely want to see you naked.” Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony’s vanity. “I’m merely pointing out that it’s not actually necessary.”

“You’re not going to get me off after?”

“Well, that would put me one ahead.”

Tony slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of Bruce’s boxers, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m sure I’ll find some other way to catch up.” Bruce let a shaky laugh escape, and Tony discarded the underwear to the floor. His cock bounced slightly, curving towards his stomach. Bruce took a deep, slow breath, remembering that Tony _liked_ him like this, that he had absolutely nothing to be self-conscious about because Tony was into him, exactly how he was.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Tony moaned, giving Bruce a firm stroke, unable to resist.

“I thought you were getting naked too.” He said, an eyebrow raised. Tony hurriedly threw them aside, getting his hand back on Bruce’s cock as soon as possible. The other hand groped blindly in the bedside cabinet, Tony refusing to look away for a second to make his search easier.

“Aha!” He yelled triumphantly, flipping the cap open on a large bottle of lube and squirting a generous blob onto his palm. Bruce gasped as the hand ended up back on his dick; the liquid was cold, but it also made the hand job so much fucking better. Tony could speed up, working his fist quickly without being impeded by friction, and _oh, fucking fuckity fuck._

“Shit, right there, o-oh God!” Bruce cried out in broken disjointed noises, thrusting up into Tony’s fist a little in eagerness. There might be some people who were jealous about Tony’s vast and varied sexual history, but shit, if Bruce wasn’t the one benefiting from it right now—Tony knew exactly how to fuck with him, get him desperate and panting and so fucking hard. Tony knew exactly how to read him, how to tell when to slow down, when to brush against his balls, to stop him getting too close too soon.

Tony Stark read sexual signals like fucking road signs, and it was totally unfair.

“Tony, please.” He whimpered, as Tony brought him to the brink of coming for the third time with an artful flick of the wrist, before slowing his hand and bringing Bruce back down again.

“You want to come?” He grinned, teasing unashamedly. “You want me to get you off, hmm?” He was wholly and utterly a one track mind when he had a job in front of him; his own cock was dripping pre-come, but he completely ignored it in favour of Bruce. He looked barely phased by his own arousal.

“Please.” Bruce repeated, sounding a little pathetic even to his own ears. God, what was Tony doing to him? He’d never been a huge one for this kind of teasing, but it was driving him crazy in the best possible way tonight.

“Okay, honey.” Tony said smoothly, his loose fist fucking down around Bruce once more. “You going to come for me?”

Bruce nodded, his mouth dry, his back arched as he thrust his hips up to meet Tony. He was close, so close, just one more—Tony drew his hand away. “FUCK YOU.” He yelled, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, he was so hard.

Tony burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist. You just look so damn pretty like that.”

“Tony, I swear to God—” He didn’t get to the end of the threat, before Tony had taken pity on him, given him four good hard jerks, and made him shout as he came over Tony’s fist. “Fucking hell.” He managed, slumping back against the pillows. “That… _Fucking hell_.” He was breathing heavily, feeling almost other worldly as Tony wiped his hand on a tissue snatched from the bedside cabinet.

“Good?”

“The best.” Bruce promised. He pushed himself up, wrapped a hand around Tony’s cock. “You tired me out too much to get you back for that properly.”

“Shame.” Tony said remorselessly, though he did yelp when Bruce squeezed his balls hard in retaliation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been such a hell day today ugh. My laptop decided to die on its ass yesterday and the only way of saving it was a system restore so I've spent the whole day messing around with it to get my precious fanfic off the hard drive before I wiped it... I really must back stuff up oh dear
> 
> BUT IT'S OKAY. I SAVED IT. DO NOT FEAR. As always, thanks for reading! You can find me on tumblr [here](http://scibros.tumblr.com) <3


	13. Chapter 13

Four days later, Bruce and Tony found themselves in Reed Richards’ office once again. He went through the entire formal rigmarole, but shaking _both_ of their hands this time. That was encouraging, Bruce thought. There must have been something interesting in the work if he’d progressed to being treated like an actual human being in less than a week. The desk was stacked high with papers and folders, despite the fact that everything really should be computerised by now, and he could sense Tony’s discomfort at the prospect of like… actual paper.

Reed looked at them both with an appraising eye. “What the hell are you two getting in to?” He asked eventually.

“Well, we were hoping you could tell us.” Tony said unashamedly. It was no secret that Tony and Bruce were so far out of their depths they may as well be in the middle of the Atlantic. Even Reed, who was nearly impossible to surprise any more, looked impressed.

He flicked on a projector screen and displayed a mess of lines and letters and shapes that meant absolutely nothing to Bruce. It was a chemical structure of some kind, clearly, but he couldn’t identify it. From the look on Tony’s face, he was struggling with it too. “Well, Banner. Your hypothesis seems to be correct.”

Bruce was about to correct him, to say that it was _Tony’s_ hypothesis, but he was silenced with a look. He frowned, not comfortable with Tony letting him take credit for something that was nothing to do with him at all. He didn’t need to impress Richards, and he had no desire to lie in order to do it.

“When you first came to me with this, I admit, I had no faith in it going anywhere. If there really was some identifier of your Match in your ow genetic code, I figured someone would have noticed it by now. Now, I realise why no-one has ever found it.”

“Was it that hard to find?” Tony asked, sounding surprised. Bruce was surprised as well—he wasn’t expecting it to be a piece of cake obviously, but he’d figured that Richards wouldn’t invest that much time looking if he didn’t believe in the research.

Reed smiled a little. “It _was_ hard to find, yes, and I’d say with all due modesty that only three or four other people on the planet would have been able to isolate it, but that’s not what I meant. This work has made me realise how little people think about Matching. Scientific advancement relies on people asking the right questions, but for some reason, no-one is asking about this. It’s taken for granted, but all facts of life are rooted in science. Why not this?”

Bruce smiled despite himself. That wasn’t far from his own reasoning too, wasn’t far from his own motivations for starting the research. “You think SHIELD are covering stuff up?” He asked curiously. He had few doubts of it, but he was interested to hear what an outsider thought. He might be a total bitch, but Bruce knew that he could rely on Richards to at least be an _honest_ bitch.

Reed shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. If they were, I’d have thought they would have shut you down by now.”

“We put out a cover story.”

“And maybe that worked. But SHIELD might just be biding their time.” Reed warned. “Anyway, let me brief you on what I’ve got.”

“Bear in mind I know nothing about biology, yeah?” Tony said.

“Tony Stark admitting he knows nothing about something. That’s a first.” Reed laughed. “I used the same techniques that I approach most genetic based problems with, isolating the specific relevant part of the gene sequence and breaking it down into individual protein codes. At first glance, it’s all routine. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special. But then I noticed this.” He clicked on a screen, showing a horrendously complicated computer model of the DNA string. Neither Bruce or Tony could spot what Richards had apparently unearthed—it just looked like a mush of lines and numbers and letters and squiggles. “Right there.” He clarified, zooming in a little closer. “There’s a blip, right? Inconsequential, maybe. Or maybe not.”

“That’s it?” Bruce said in disbelief. Reed shook his head.

“That’s the tip of the iceberg. That’s the scar left on the surface. It’s just the evidence of the real stuff going on underneath.” He got more and more excited as they realised what he was getting at. “This was the hard bit. I knew there was something hidden behind it, but it’s unheard of for DNA to protect itself like this. It looks to me like we’ve evolved to hide the evidence of our Matches.”

“Well, understandably.” Tony interjected. “If it were openly accessible, any nutter with a talent for genetic engineering could wreak havoc.”

Bruce hadn’t considered this. He suddenly felt quite uneasy about the fact that Reed had extracted the very DNA coding responsible for his Match with Tony. Maybe they were meddling with things best left alone.

Reed could apparently read his expression. “Don’t worry, Banner. I have no intention of genetically engineering anything.”

“But it’s possible?”

Richards shrugged. “Sure, it’s _possible._ ”

“You could do it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Reed said honestly. “But I can tell you now—and I don’t mean to be arrogant—not many others could. Like I said, not many others could make it this far. And besides… No one is particularly interested in Matching in the first place.”

“But under that blip…” Tony asked, sounding a little shaken despite his attempt to cover it up.

“This is Bruce’s DNA I tested here, but after a serious intellectual challenge, there’s trace amounts of DNA that match your blood sample.”

This was a monumental breakthrough—they finally had a way to prove their Match to SHIELD—but it left Bruce feeling slightly hollow. “Have you shared this with anyone?” He asked nervously.

“No. Well, not really.”

“Not really?” Tony asked, as Bruce’s throat dried up.

“Killian took a look when I was decoding your DNA, but he doesn’t know what we’re working on.”

Tony stood up, shook Reed’s hand. “Thank you for your help, Richards.” He sounded confident, like he wasn’t worried about anything, and that put Bruce at ease.

He steered Bruce out of the office and back to the car. “Tony, what—”

“I hate to say it, but Killian isn’t stupid. Not as smart as Reed Richards, but he doesn’t need to be. Reed’s done all the heavy lifting.”

“Tony, what are you talking about? Who is Killian?”

Tony took a deep breath, and started the engine. “Aldrich Killian is the founder of AIM. He’s a second rate scientist at best, but he’s a greedy, opportunistic bastard. If he works out what Reed was doing for us, and what the implications are… Well, if he can find something marketable in it, he will.”

“How could it be marketable?”

Tony shrugged. “I’m sure he could exploit it somehow.”

Bruce decided Tony was worrying too much. This might be a problem _if_ Killian worked out what Reed was really doing and _if_ he replicated the tests and _if_ he could successfully do anything with it. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He said firmly. “In the mean time, a little celebration is in order, don’t you think? Irrefutable scientific evidence that we’re Matched. This is _huge_ , Tony.”

Tony look at him with a small smile. “Bruce, I don’t need science to tell me we’re Matched.”

Bruce pretended to gag on the pure soppiness of that statement. “You might not, you massive loser, but SHIELD do.”

“Fuck SHIELD.” He grinned. “Anyway, I think you said something about a _celebration_?” Only Tony could make that sound so filthy, so god damn explicit.

“You’re terrible.”

“No, I just really want to blow you.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “It was your idea, Tony. Isn’t it you who deserves a blow job?”

“By that logic, I think technically it’s Reed Richards who deserves a blow job.”

Bruce pondered that for a second. “Well, you can turn the car around and suck him off if you want. I won’t mind.”

“Gross.” Tony pulled a face, and Bruce secretly agreed. “I’d much rather get on my knees for you.” Bruce’s mouth dried up at the image of Tony Stark on his knees. That damn talented tongue, so effective even when just kissing. That smart gobshite mouth, silent for once as he swallowed Bruce’s dick, his throat working as he tried to not to choke. “And you did promise next time.” He reminded, a smug grin playing on his lips, no idea of the effect he was having on Bruce.

Tony’s right hand drifted across the console to Bruce’s leg, moved higher up his thigh until it was resting on his crotch. His eyes never left the road. “Thank God for automatics.” He said, as he palmed against Bruce’s hastily hardening dick.

“You’re the worst.” Bruce said flatly. “Stop it and drive, you idiot.”

“I wasn’t aware that I’d stopped driving.” Tony quipped. His fingers found Bruce’s flies and attempted to undo the button, but he couldn’t manage it with one hand. “A little help here?” He said casually. Bruce knew he’d regret this, but unbuttoned his trousers, unzipped the front and let Tony another layer of fabric closer. _God_. He felt like every person in every car that passed knew what was happening, despite the fact that the windows were too tinted to see inside anyway. He had no intention of making Tony stop. It felt so fucking good, but Bruce knew that Tony wouldn’t let him get off until his lips were wrapped around his cock back at the tower. He checked the sat nav and they were still a good fifteen minutes away.

Those fifteen minutes were torture. Tony was an expert teaser even when concentrating almost entirely on the road, and Bruce was wound up, hard and longing to jack off by the time they pulled up outside. “Don’t get valet parking unless you want to suck me off in the lift.” He said warningly. “Because I’m not going to make it to the penthouse.”

“Sex in the garage.” Tony beamed, sailing past the man waiting to open his door. “Suits me.”

He pulled up smoothly between two lumps of metal that each probably cost more than all of Bruce’s worldly possessions added together. Actually, not probably. They were _really_ nice cars. Scrambling for the door handle, he extracted himself from the Audi and practically threw himself at Tony, dick achingly hard. “You sure you don’t want to do this somewhere more—”

“If you say _special_ I’m going to kick you in the balls, Stark.” He growled, tearing at the button on his slacks. “I’m not some blushing virgin and trust me, this is not my first fast filthy blowjob. Fuck, it’s not even my first fast filthy blowjob in someone’s garage.”

“Jesus.” Tony said, before helping Bruce pull the trousers and his underwear to his knees. He knelt, as promised, and found Bruce’s dick bobbing inches from his face. Tony didn’t hesitate, sinking his mouth around the head and sucking lightly. Bruce clutched harder at his shoulders, steading himself, because the only other thing to hold on to was a collection of terrifyingly expensive sports cars and like... nope.

He licked a long stripe from Bruce’s balls to the head, going back for seconds when Bruce let out a particularly breathy moan. He relocated the sensitive spot and proceeded to pay it special attention, laving it with his tongue while his fingers moved up to skim lightly over Bruce’s balls. “Oh god—” Bruce moaned, bucking his hips helplessly into Tony’s mouth. His hands, grabbing Tony’s shoulders so hard it would probably leave bruises, were manhandled a little higher by Tony, and Bruce followed his lead to clutch at his hair instead. At first, he was a little worried that he was going to hurt him, but as Tony eagerly swallowed his cock, Bruce realised that maybe that was exactly what Tony wanted.

Tony withdrew, flicked his tongue into his slit to get at the bead of pre-come collected there. He licked at his lips and looked up at Bruce with a smirk on his face. It was an image of pure cockiness—that anyone could look that arrogant or that fucking beautiful when they’d seconds ago had a cock in their mouth was a mystery to him. “You taste really good.” Tony said between licks.

Bruce blushed because Bruce always blushed when people complimented him, but he had hoped that it wouldn’t extend to compliments about the flavour of his come. “I bet you say that to all the boys.” He said with a nervous teasing grin, tightening his grip on Tony’s hair. He yanked his head at the same time as he thrust his hips forward, causing Tony to choke slightly on the dick suddenly being pushed past his spit-slick lips.

_God,_ that was hot. Should that be hot? Who knows?

Tony was proficient enough to quickly get his gag reflex under control, expertly bobbing his head lower and lower until his nose was practically nestled in Bruce’s pubic hair. He was pretty sure nobody had sucked his dick this well in his entire life, and now kind of wished he’d listened to Tony’s suggestion to take it upstairs to the bedroom. Not because it needed to be special, but because Bruce felt like his legs were going to give in and lying down might have been a better idea. But perching awkwardly on the bonnet of a car worth several hundred thousand dollars was fun, too.

Tony had a string of drool making its way down his chin but that somehow only added to the aesthetic, wide eyes and pink lips looking thoroughly debauched and fucked out and filthy. It was a good look for him, and Bruce could feel himself getting closer to the edge, watching Tony enthusiastically blow him from root to tip with no hesitation what so ever. As his lips met Bruce’s balls once more, Tony swallowed. The sensation made Bruce’s knees buckle as he gasped out in shock and accidentally yanked on Tony’s hair. “Fucking _hell,_ Tony, I… I… Fuck, do that again.” Tony drew his lips all the way off again, torturously slowly, and Bruce bucked into his mouth a little to try to get _something_ more. “Hate you.” He gasped as Tony’s tongue caught that sensitive spot once more. He needed to come, god damn it, but Tony could read him like a book. It was like he knew exactly what would make him lose it completely and was intentionally not giving in.

Bruce lost his balance a little and slammed his hand against the car he was leaning on to stop himself from falling over. The car alarm went off, making Tony jump out of his skin, and Bruce screamed out. “Fuck, you just _bit me!_ ”

Tony burst out laughing. “Lesson learned. Don’t make a guy jump when he’s got your dick in his mouth.” He sniggered. “J, turn that racket off, would you?” The AI silenced the alarm but Bruce could still hear it ringing in his ears. “You okay?” Bruce flushed, more embarrassed than anything, and nodded. “If it makes you feel better I think you actually yanked a handful of my hair out.” He teased, and Bruce gave it a sharp tug for good measure.

A quiet moan escaped Tony’s lips. He tried to cover up his blatant embarrassment by mouthing at Bruce’s cock, but he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You really get off on me pulling your hair?” he asked curiously, but Tony didn’t answer. He just tongued at Bruce’s balls instead, and he suspected that if Tony looked up right now, he might actually be blushing.

Bruce pulled his hair, because Bruce was a dick, and Tony sucked his balls harshly in return. He could see Tony’s dick straining against the zipper of his pants, just from sucking him off—well, and the hair pulling thing—and that was a compliment if there ever was one. Tony mouthed at his balls again before sinking his mouth down once more, smoothly deep-throating him without hesitation. “Tony, shit, if you do that again, I’m gonna lose it.” He warned, not wanting to just spunk in Tony’s mouth without at least letting him know. That was not good blow job etiquette, after all.

As he predicted, however, Tony was totally fine with Bruce coming down his throat, and gave him a quick smirk before sinking down one last time and _moaning_. The vibrations were too much for Bruce and he babbled Tony’s name as spurts of his hot white come were swallowed down like damn Coca-Cola. Tony’s fist slowly stroked him through his climax until he came down and his whimpers turned desperate from over-stimulation.

“You’re a screamer.” Tony noted with glee, getting up from the dusty floor and brushing off his jeans.

Bruce’s pants were still around his ankles but he just did not care. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Tony didn’t argue, immediately pressing their lips together, but he made a soft noise of surprise when Bruce flicked his tongue into Tony’s mouth. He could still taste himself there, but it was mixed with _Tony_ and Jesus fucking Christ, it was good. 

“You’re into that?” Tony asked when they moved apart. “That’s, uh… Good to know.”

Bruce shrugged, too sated to be embarrassed. “My turn.”

*

“Mr Stark.”

“Mr Garrett.” He responded with the same measured, cold voice, barely shaking the man’s extended hand.

“Please, you can call me John.” He said, forcing what was clearly meant to be a friendly smile. Tony’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to smirk.

“You can call me Mr Stark, if you don’t mind.”

Bruce snorted.

Garrett turned to look at him, and _God_ why would none of Tony’s associates treat him with _any_ respect? “And Mr Banner is here as well. How… domestic.”

“It’s Dr Banner.” Tony retorted, scowling a little.

“It’s semantics.” Garrett dismissed, and Bruce wanted to punch him in the face so, so bad. What a waste of all those years studying if no one was even going to use his title, _God_. He consoled himself in the knowledge that they would have Garrett squirming in the palm of his hand within the hour. “Why did you organise this meeting? You know it’s against protocol to discuss SHIELD concerns outside of the proper buildings.”

“It didn’t stop you last time, did it? We know they record everything in your meeting rooms. We thought that maybe you’d prefer something a little more off the record.” Tony said, leaning forward a little in his chair. “Dr Banner and I have been doing some research, you see. And the results have been quite conclusive.”

Garrett sighed, moving to stand from his chair. “You’re wasting my time, Stark. Research proposals are nothing to do with my department and you know that perfectly well.”

“The subject matter is something to do with your department though.” Bruce chipped in, unable to stop himself from enjoying the irritation displayed on Garrett’s face. “You saw the details of our original study, I assume? Exploring the genetic variation in Unmatched individuals? Well, it brought some quite interesting things to light.”

They’d decided to put their new findings forward under the guise of the original proposal in order to minimise accusations of lying about the use of research grants, but Bruce personally wasn’t concerned. If this went well, reporting them for the misuse of financial aid would be the last complaint on Garrett’s list.

“Our initial comparison of levels of animaphiline in Unmatched people gave us an expected pattern with two distinct anomalies.” JARVIS, as if on cue, flashed the graph on to the holographic display closest to Garrett. Tony walked him through their hypothesis and their results while Bruce enjoyed watching the man’s expression fall from one of haughty arrogance to something bordering on fear. His professional life depended on his squeaky clean reputation; something like this would take some major covering up, and Bruce and Tony hoped that they could make it so that it was impossible to hide forever.

“So you think you’re Matched.” He said flatly, trying to cover the worry in his eyes. “What do you expect me to do? If you were Matched, you should have registered it. That’s protocol, I’m afraid, Mr Stark, Dr Banner. You know that I can’t bend the rules for you—it will weaken the integrity of the entire system.”

“So you’re telling me you can’t remove the Auto from our Matching certificates?” Bruce asked, feigning disbelief. I reality, they were counting on Garrett not playing along—it would only make his downfall all the more satisfying.

Garrett tutted. “This—” He said, gesturing at the data. “doesn’t prove you are Matched with each other. Maybe you are Matched. Or more likely, maybe you’re just Auto _freaks._ ” He spat that last word, and Bruce felt Tony tense up beside him.  “I can see what’s in it for _him_. Persuading a billionaire that you’re Matched can only benefit you, can’t it, Banner? Haven’t got two dimes to rub together from what I hear.” Tony clenched his fists, furious at Garrett’s implications. Bruce wasn’t. Bruce was perfectly aware of how it might look to an outsider, the relationship between them, and was expecting it.

Bruce put one hand on Tony’s arm to remind him to calm down and looked at Garrett with the most disparaging sneer he could muster. “If you’d experienced the blow job I just received, you would understand that I am not with Tony for the money.” Tony choked out an incredulous laugh; Garrett’s face was turning so red that he looked like he was about to explode. “What if I said we had irrefutable scientific evidence showing that Tony and I are Matched?”

“It doesn’t change the fact that I make the rules!” He blustered arrogantly as he stood up, kicking his chair backwards.

“Okay, fine.” Bruce said calmly. “You make the rules. Got it. I mean, it’s not going to stop us from submitting our research to Sci-Tech, but I acknowledge your authority in Matching, _John_.” Bruce watched with a kind of sick satisfaction as he got more and more pissed off. It pleased him that despite his trying to hide it, Garrett knew that his credibility was inches from being destroyed. “And as you’ve already told us quite explicitly, research protocols are nothing to do with your department.”

They sat in a silent truce for over a minute, with Garrett seething and Tony beginning to calm down. Bruce thought the meeting went quite well, given the circumstances, though it would have been better had Tony not completely lost it and practically gone for Garrett’s throat. “Is that all?” He said eventually, and Bruce nodded with as annoying a smile as he could manage.

“That’ll be all for now.” He said pleasantly, hold out a hand to shake. Garrett looked at the outstretched fingers in contempt, before shaking it gingerly and dropping it as quickly as he could. “We’ll be sure to stay in touch.”

Once Garrett had slammed the door behind him, his face perfectly furious, Tony let out a deep breath and started to laugh. “Oh my _God._ ” He said, barely able to string together anything more eloquent than that. “ _Oh my god_.”

Bruce smiled. “It’ll give him something to think about at night, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr [ here ](http://scibros.tumblr.com)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IT'S LATE D: I was in a deep dark hole of exam revision in which the laws of space time do not apply and by the time I'd re-emerged and realised it was Wednesday, a) technically for me it was no longer Wednesday and b) I was tucked up in bed and going to sleep. Sorry! :( Anyway, I hope you (slightly belatedly) enjoy!
> 
> (see end notes for a content warning)

“Jane?”

“Hey Bruce.” She beamed. Since he now possessed a phone that had actually been made in the current decade, he was finally able to video call people, which was weirdly a novelty for him. Tony found his lack of interest in current technology hilarious, but this was the first time in this life that he’d actually been able to afford to keep up. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s… good.” He desperately wanted to tell her about their—well, Tony’s—new breakthrough, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He trusted Jane, of course he did, but the expression said it all—loose lips sink ships. “Really good, in fact.” He added to reassure her, realising that he wasn’t being particularly convincing. “I wanted to know if you were still interesting in helping us out?”

She didn’t hesitate for even a second. “Definitely. What can I do?”

God bless Jane Foster. “It’s not very exciting, I’m afraid.” He said with a fond smile. “But we need you to keep collecting data, as much as you can. It doesn’t matter if the people are Matched or on Auto, and we would really like some readings from people who are currently Unmatched and under thirty. It might not be useful yet, but—”

“You want to see if animaphiline levels are lower in some people from birth. See if there’s any indication who might be destined for Auto matching.” She finished, nodding in understanding. “It might be difficult to get any conclusive results from that data, Bruce. I mean, if the readings come back all similar, there’s no way of proving for certain that everyone we tested wasn’t just destined to meet their Match.”

Bruce wasn’t particularly worried about that. He’d spent enough time talking to Auto Matched people to know there were a lot more of them around than people liked to think. It wasn’t imperative to their current project anyway—merely him looking to the future. He’d had years to come up with a whole list of unanswered (or unasked, in many cases) questions about Matching and he planned to continue his work even if—when he and Tony succeeded in their fight against SHIELD. Reed was right—scientific advances were driven solely by the right questions, and Bruce wanted to be the one to ask them. “No worries Jane. Just… whatever you can get your hands on. We’ll have a courier pick them up when you think you’ve got a big enough first sample.”

“Are you struggling to find participants in New York?” She asked curiously, looking slightly concerned despite Bruce’s reassurances. He shrugged. Honestly, it was more that the focus of their research was shifting, but he didn’t want to give too much away.

 “You can only stay in the shadows for so long.” He said, intentionally being as vague as he could. “It’s difficult here because Garrett and SHIELD operate from the city, but you should be more under the radar in New Mexico.”

“I’ll be sure to bear that in mind when the Ops agents come and kick down my front door.” She joked. Bruce didn’t find it funny at all.

“Jane, if it causes you any problems, you need to stop, okay?” He wasn’t going to let her risk her own career for some stupid blood analysis. “Promise me.”

“Bruce, stop being such an ass.” She snapped. “I can look after myself. My lab isn’t more important than this.”

“I think even Tony would agree than Einstein-Rosen bridges are far more important than…”

“Shut. Up.” Her words cut underneath his and he wilted. “I want to help, Bruce.”

“Okay. Make your own decisions; I’m not stopping you. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to if it’s going to cause you problems.”

Jane was about to respond, then looked over her shoulder, distracted by something g beyond the edge of the screen. “Okay, I’m coming now.” She shouted down, and turned back to Bruce. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Thor made waffles and if I don’t get there before Darcy, I won’t get any.”

Bruce laughed. He knew that to be true from extensive first hand experience. That girl might be small but she could eat for the country. “You got yourself a good guy there, Foster. Hot, can put up shelves admirably, make great waffles. That is Matching _goals_.”

“Tony never makes you brunch?” She joked.

“He did once.” He remembered, grimacing just at the memory. “I really, really wish he hadn’t.”

Jane burst out laughing. “Well, I guess he has other positive attributes.” She said generously. “I’ll speak to you soon, Bruce. Glad you’re doing okay.”

“See you.” He said cheerfully, but his smile slid off as soon as the screen went to black. Maybe it had been a mistake asking her to help. He didn’t want to put her in danger, or get her work caught in the cross fire when the inevitable backlash hit. 

But she had volunteered. She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions and her assistance would be invaluable. As Tony kept pointing out, there was no reason not to involve her.  That didn’t stop Bruce feeling kind of uncomfortable about the whole thing.

*

“What’s wrong with the Starbucks at the end of our block, again?” Bruce huffed with exasperation. He was starting to regret suggesting that they walked, especially when Tony had a fleet of chauffeur driven cars at his disposal. But the old hippy in Bruce had protested; it was a lovely summer afternoon, they were barely going two miles and they were in no rush. Walking would suffice.

Tony stared at him in shocked horror. “You know, for someone who inhales as much coffee as you, you don’t half have a terrible taste in it. This place is so much better than Starbucks, Bruce. A good independent coffee shop maketh a man.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the proverb goes. Don’t you essentially have an independent coffee shop in every room of the tower?” After some rooting around in cupboards and a subtle interrogation, Bruce had discovered that the reason that Tony’s coffee was so damn good—definitely a perk of working for Stark Industries—was because Tony created the precise blend and roast to his own personal taste. Which was also pretty spot on for Bruce’s own personal taste. Pepper always complained it was too bitter and piled it with cream and sugar, but for them, it was just bitter enough to jolt them awake and keep them working all night. “Can you even drink coffee that isn’t from your own roast?”

Tony hit him lightly on the arm. “I’m not that much of a coffee snob.” He pouted, but everyone knew that was not true. “Okay, it’s not as good as mine, but it’s pretty good. Also dark chocolate and sour cherry brownies.”

They walked a little further, Bruce not at all surprised that Tony would make him traipse half way across Manhattan for some fucking brownies, and exchanged idle chat. They might be biological soulmates and Bruce might _really_ dig Tony, like, a lot, but they didn’t actually know much about each other. In the whirlwind of their time together, science and conspiracy and European travel and worries about sex hadn’t exactly left much time for discussions about common interests or debates about which of the prequel trilogy Star Wars movies should be burned first.

Bruce was half way through a well rehearsed defence of certain scenes in The Phantom Menace when Tony stopped without warning and pushed open a door. Bruce wouldn’t have even noticed it was there if it hadn’t been pointed out—a quiet little place with six tables and a counter stacked high with different cakes.

Only one of the tables was currently occupied, three people sat in the corner engrossed in conversation. Bruce expected Tony to lead him to the opposite corner so as to not be weird, but he walked right up to them and sat down next to a young looking man and woman. “Ain’t it grand we could all make it?” He said with a grin, gesturing to Bruce that he should take a seat next to the third person, who he just realised was Phil Coulson.

From SHIELD.

He rolled his eyes. “And here was me thinking this was just an unnecessarily long trip to get coffee. But no, it’s SHIELD bullshit again.” Coulson tactfully ignored him but the two younger people exchanged small grins. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m—”

“Dr Bruce Banner.” The woman cut in over him in an English accent. “Oh, we know.”

“We’ve been following your work.” The man joined in, looking for some reason very excited to be meeting him.

Bruce noticed the identical chains around their necks. “Um.” He said, glancing at Tony. He just smirked. “Sorry, I don’t—”

“Dr Banner, Fitzsimmons are your monitors at SHIELD. They’ve been watching your work since your first paper in New Mexico.” Coulson said calmly. “It’s highly against protocol for them to meet you, hence why we came out all this way.” Bruce raised an eyebrow at the name. “Fitz.” Coulson said, gesturing towards the Scottish man meekly raising a hand. “And Simmons.” He added, nodding at the woman. “They’re going to help you put your research forward and stop it getting swept away before we can get a foot in the door.”

“Well, we’re going to try.” Simmons said pragmatically. “Your work has the potential to change the way a lot of things operate around here.”

Bruce ignored her and glared at Tony for a second. “One day, you are going to stop lying to me and actually tell me what’s going on.” Tony did apologise, and Bruce knew that sometimes it was necessary, but it didn’t stop it being really fucking annoying. “Only really low men lie about chocolate brownies, Stark. That’s one step too far.”

“Come on, Bruce, as if I would lie to you about chocolate brownies. Who do you think I am? Like, I might be a jerk but I’m not _evil._ ” As if on cue, a plate of brownies was slid on to the table, alongside two large cups of strong black coffee for Bruce and Tony. So perhaps it wasn’t the leisurely coffee break he was expecting, but at least there _was_ coffee. Tony shot him an annoyingly smug look that screamed _I told you so,_ but that didn’t change the fact that he was lured into this under false pretences.

“So are you planning to submit your work anonymously?” Simmons asked, targeting her question more to Tony as she broke off a piece of brownie.

“No.” Bruce and Tony responded at the exact same time. Tony gestured to him to continue. “We figured we’d exploit Tony’s name to generate a little more interest.” He grabbed his phone from his pocket to read out the title that they had spent over an hour crafting the previous evening. “It’s called ‘Effects of animaphiline on the function of the endocrine system and its implications for isolated DNA strand composition’, by Dr R. B. Banner, A. E. Stark and Dr R. Richards.”

“Sounds suitably dull and awful.” Fitz chipped in, not bothering with breaking up his brownie but preferring to just cram it in his mouth and rip off large chunks. “Jemma is Bio-Chem. I’m engineering. I don’t really get that stuff.” He explained. Bruce snorted, couldn’t help himself. There was one SHIELD lackey for each of them, it seemed.

“It’s okay, neither does Tony.” Bruce and Fitz laughed.

“You should be grateful that I’m not a total expert on this stuff, or you would have been entirely superfluous to the project.” Tony retorted. Fitzsimmons looked quite shocked at the biting response; clearly they didn’t spend much time working with Stark to understand how he operates.

Bruce grinned at them, feeling weirdly fond of the two odd scientists. At least, more fond than he felt about anyone else working for SHIELD. “That’s his way of thanking you for your contribution.” He explained, and shot a look at Tony as if to say _be nice._  

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “You’re hardly convincing anyone of your Match with the way you two bicker.”

“Then it’s a good job we can convince people with science, isn’t it?” Tony said, more biting than was necessary. “You know what I don’t get? What’s in this for you, Coulson?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, and Coulson looked taken aback. “I’m not just helping you for personal gain, Tony. You know that’s not how I operate.”

“Tone down the paranoia, honey. They’re trying to help.” Bruce said quietly. Tony looked like he was going to argue, but after a few tense seconds, he relaxed a little and sat back in the booth.

“Is it so hard to believe that some people actually do want the world to be a fairer place?” Coulson asked, and then laughed at his own words. It’s almost impossible. “Tony, we’ve known each other for years. I’ll tell you what’s in it for me. Garrett and his cronies are the only ones standing in the way of an otherwise unanimous vote for Matching reform. Maybe it’s not reform to the extent you two are looking for, but there are people out there who have been watching what’s happening in Europe and Asia and agree that it’s time for a change. I’m one of them. I want to see this system changed.”

“So you’re after Garrett’s job.” Tony interpreted, taking a sip of his coffee with a smug grin. “Makes sense. Everyone knows Matching is another stepping stone closer to Director.”

Coulson kept a remarkably calm and civilised exterior, but his voice was powerful and _pissed off._ “Not that it particularly concerns you, Stark, but I have no interest in Matching or being Director. I’m perfectly happy in Operations, but I’ve lost way too many good agents to SHIELD’s disgusting policy of firing Unmatched people. You should know that first hand.”

“Tony, seriously, maybe you should just drop it.” Bruce said quietly, trying to smooth it over a little. Fitz and Simmons looked almost as uncomfortable as he felt, and Tony seemed at least a little chastised.

“You really just want to help?” Tony asked sceptically, and Coulson nodded. “Fine. Welcome aboard.”

*

The whole of the penthouse lounge smelled deliciously of buttery popcorn. Tony had spread across the couch in nothing but boxers and a wife beater, but he’d argued that that was his idea of pajamas so he was allowed. Bruce wasn’t exactly complaining. The shirt was tight and covered as little as physically possible and the underwear only served to accentuate his fine ass. The only problem he foresaw was being incapable of actually focusing on the television.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen _Dog Cops_.” Tony crowed, shuffling over on the sofa to let Bruce sit down next to him. He instantly scooped up a huge handful of popcorn, most of which scattered all over the carpet, and shoved it in his mouth.

Not understanding pop culture references while living under Tony’s roof was the ultimate crime, and Bruce had managed to subject himself to a mandatory TV marathon to “improve his cultural education” or something. God knows. “I didn’t exactly have much time for TV.” He reminded Tony when he expressed his disbelief. “Too busy trying to save the world and all that.” Tony tried to hold back to snigger, but he failed magnificently. “I said _trying_ to save the world. Whether I succeeded or not doesn’t change the fact that it left no time for binge watching—did you say _Dog Cops?_ You’re joking, right?” Bruce didn’t know what it was about but he could make an educated guess, and couldn’t believe this was something that actually existed in the world.

Fifteen minutes later, his suspicions were confirmed. “This is… weirdly entertaining.” He admitted to Tony’s delight.

“Just you wait until Sergeant Whiskers—well, spoilers. But just you wait.” Tony said, an expression of child-like glee on his face as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. Bruce wanted to make a comment about how he was _not_ cleaning any of this up in the morning, but he stopped himself. Tony had stretched himself out across the length of the sofa, resting his head against Bruce’s shoulder. It felt nice, the warm weight of Tony’s torso pressing against him.

“Comfy?” He asked, smiling more to himself than to Tony. He just nodded, not moving his head from the screen. He kept hold of the popcorn bowl, suspecting that letting it into Tony’s control could mean it ending up on the floor as soon as Sergeant Whiskers did something particularly hilarious; besides, it gave him a new game of moving the bowl out of Tony’s reach every time he went to grab some.

“Hey!” He said after a few thwarted attempts. Bruce played it cool, acted innocent like he didn’t realise he was doing it. “Come on, Banner. Depriving a guy of popcorn is just cruel.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, but he laughed after the words. He’d never had much of a poker face. “Fine. Here.” He held a few bits of corn out to him, but instead of taking them, Tony just ate them from his fingers. He froze up a little, startled when he felt Tony’s lips on the tips of his fingers, but Tony just looked at him expectantly when he didn’t immediately provide more.

He picked up another piece and held it to Tony’s mouth, his heart thumping in his chest. He wasn’t sure why this was making him so nervous. It wasn’t sexual at all; there was a time before Tony where he would have refused to believe that someone eating food from his fingers in their underwear could be anything _but_ sexual, but this was just nice. Comfortable. It made him realise that Tony had become his best friend in less than six weeks.

They’d watched five episodes before Bruce started yawning. “Can we continue this tomorrow?” He asked, pushing Tony gently off of his lap so he could stand up and stretch. Within the first hour, Tony had slid steadily down until his head was on Bruce’s thigh, but he didn’t mind at all. He couldn’t believe it was particularly comfortable for Tony, but he didn’t seem to have any complaints.

Tony grinned, and cricked his neck with a satisfied noise. “Sure. I mean, we should probably get back to work at some point, but I’m sure we can fit it in.” Bruce smiled, having temporarily forgotten about the work they still had left to do in the wake of their recent breakthroughs. “Also Pepper wants my head on a stick because I told JARVIS to keep blocking her requests for meetings.”

“Aren’t you kind of meant to go to those?” Bruce asked. He knew Tony didn’t do much real work for Stark Industries any more—he preferred the research side—but in their first few weeks of their awkward dance, Tony would spend four hours in the offices downstairs a couple of days a week. In the last month, he’d barely gone down at all.

Tony shrugged. “Well, kind of. Yeah. But they don’t actually care about anything I have to say so it’s not a big deal.”

“Tony.” Bruce said flatly. “Come on, if Stark Industries goes under I’m going to have to get a real job and I really can’t be bothered with that any more. The perks here are too good.”

“Stark Industries isn’t going to go under.” He said with a roll of his eyes. “But fine. I’ll arrange a meeting with Pepper. For the sake of your job security. And by perks, you mean my ass, right?” 

Bruce laughed but he really was relieved that Tony wasn’t just letting Stark Industries fall by the way side. It was good to know that he wasn’t using it as an excuse to avoid the awkwardness that was their weird relationship any more, but it was still _his_ company.

“You want to do something fun tomorrow?” Tony asked. “Go to the cinema or sightseeing or something? We never did do the whole New York tourist thing.”

“We can’t.” He said, and Tony looked crestfallen. “No, I mean we can’t _tomorrow_. It’s Steve and Bucky’s party, remember? Some other time, we should definitely go sightseeing.”

In some ways, it was easier before they became _intimate_ , as Bruce insisted on calling it. They could focus on the work and skirt around the tension between them. Now, he’d happily blow off all responsibilities for an evening in front of the TV or an afternoon spent wandering around Central Park. It made productivity a lot more challenging.

“Right, of course. I forgot about the party.”

“Are you okay?” He asked carefully, noting the change in Tony’s voice from relaxed excitement to something almost bitter. His stomach churned; no matter how much he was reassured, Bruce still felt fucking guilty. “If you don’t want to go, I’m sure Steve will understand.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to go?” Tony responded instantly, but he couldn’t remove the hollow sound from his words. “They’re my friends and I’m damn happy they’re eventually tying the knot.”

Bruce was unconvinced.

“You know, when you start blaming yourself for things, it’s actually visible on your face.” Tony said, shaking his head a little. “Stop looking like a kicked puppy, Banner. We’re getting Matched one day. You can’t keep blaming yourself for the fact we’re not already.”

He looked at Tony in flat out disbelief for a few seconds, then burst out laughing. Tony frowned, not understanding what was so god damn funny. “You’re serious.” He wheezed, trying to control himself and abysmally failing. “You’re seriously scolding _me_ for taking the blame for everything?”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it wordlessly and Bruce managed to get his sniggering under control. “Pot, kettle, black?” When Tony still didn’t respond, Bruce frowned. “Oh come on, Tony, you blame yourself for loads of stuff. I can tell; I’m not an idiot.”

“If something is my fault, I’ll blame myself. I don’t do it for kicks.”

“And I do?”

“Yes!”

Bruce laughed again. Tony looked angry, but he didn’t argue any further.

“It is my fault though.” Bruce said. He wasn’t apologising—his guilt complex doesn’t go that deep—but he wished Tony would let him acknowledge this much. “If I wasn’t so convinced that I was right, that Matching wasn’t real, I might have paid more attention to the signs. And at the very least, you wouldn’t have been repelled by my research when you hunted me down.”

Tony looked uneasy, had the expression on his face that Bruce now associated with wanting to ask a difficult question. “Just ask it, Stark.”

“Why were you so convinced that Matching was a lie?”

Well, at least he asked it quickly. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Tony looked at him, curiosity, bemusement, the same look he had been seeing his entire life. “I…” He started, and the words faltered and fell to the ground. Tony seemed to have realised it wasn’t an easy question, wasn’t a funny story.

“I’m sorry—you don’t need to…” He tried to back track, but Bruce shook his head. After all the shit he’d put Tony through over the last few years, the other man deserved to know why.

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, leaning back into the couch. “My mom… She was a great woman. Intelligent, beautiful, you know? Destined for great things.” He couldn’t remember the last time he even thought about Rebecca, let alone talked to someone about her. Taking a deep breath to control his shaking body, he continued hesitantly. “She met him—Brian—through work. They were both research scientists, collaborated on a project, and… well.” Bruce smiled slightly. “They Matched. Had a son.”

Bruce could see Tony was desperate to interrupt, but he appreciated his restraint. This was hard enough for him as it was. “He was an alcoholic. He’d always liked a drink, but it got worse after… after they had me. He wasn’t a good guy when he was drunk, and he had a temper.”

Tony looked on in horror. “You mean he… he hit you?” He prompted, when Bruce made no sign of going any further.

“Sometimes.” Bruce managed, a phantom pain in his arm from a long healed childhood broken shoulder appearing and disappearing almost instantly. “He hit my mom more, though, when she defended me.”

He watched Tony’s expression morph from shock to horror to confusion in a way that he was completely familiar with, the same progression happening in the faces of the (admittedly few) other people that he’d told this story to. “But they were—”

“Yeah. They were Matched. I hope that somewhere, deep down, when he was sober, he really did love her, and she definitely loved him. But that didn’t change anything. He was still a monster. When you grow up in that kind of household, where something that was supposed to be _good_ and bring _happiness_ created only misery, it’s not really surprising that you start to question it. They put on a good façade around other people, and no one knew.”

“Did she get out?” Tony asked quietly. “There are centers, right? Places for people who are dealing with abusive Matches to go for support?”

“She tried, but they’re unbelievably underfunded and prioritise Auto Matches. For obvious reasons, I guess. Honestly, I don’t think anyone really believed her.”

“But she got out?”

Brue laughed darkly. “No. She died, when I was seven.”

Tony swore under his breath. “He… He killed her?”

“By accident. I guess he just… went too far one night, and she never woke up. He didn’t even get questioned by the police. No-one wanted to think someone’s Match was capable of doing that.”

Tony didn’t respond, but seconds later, he had his arm wrapped around Bruce’s shoulders, and Bruce noticed the tears rolling down his own cheeks. The contact was reassuring, warm, loving, and only reminded him that Brian had not only taken his mother from him, but he’d nearly taken Tony from him too. “She deserved so much better, Tony. If that’s Matching… Well, you can’t exactly blame me for wanting it to be bullshit.” 

Tony didn’t say anything, but kept his arm around Bruce’s shoulders until he stopped shaking. “Scoot a bit closer.” He said gently, and Bruce, feeling vulnerable, tired, empty, shuffled closer to the middle with absolutely no grace whatsoever.

“Are you spooning me?” Bruce said suspiciously as Tony moved his arm to across his waist. He didn’t bother responding, just grunted into Bruce’s shoulder. He took that as a yes.

It was kind of nice, he thought, the warmth of Tony’s body pressed against his, the slight tickle of his breath on the back of his neck. Maybe Matching wasn’t the utopian ideal that everyone presented it to be, but for some, surely, for a lucky _some_ , it was good. It was safe. It was him, and Tony, and that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for Bruce Banner's based-on-canon childhood and family situation. Fucking Brian. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	15. Chapter 15

“I thought Steve said no gifts.” Bruce asked suspiciously. He couldn’t actually see Tony behind the giant gift wrapped box he was struggling to carry out of the elevator. “What the fuck did you get them?” It apparently wasn’t that heavy despite the size, as Tony was struggling more with its awkwardly large width rather than its weight. Knowing Tony, he wouldn’t have been surprised if it was just a huge, brightly wrapped, empty cardboard box.

“It’s a secret.” He grinned, putting the box carefully down on the floor. “And Steve only says no gifts because he _really_ wants gifts. If he didn’t want gifts, he wouldn’t have _accidentally_ shared his Amazon Wishlist on the WhatsApp group last week. He’s just too polite to admit it.” Bruce laughed; that did sound like the kind of thing Steve might do. “Not that I got him anything off of an Amazon wish list. That’s way too boring.”

That didn’t give Bruce much hope, to be honest. “Come on, you have to tell me what it is. How am I supposed to pretend it’s from me as well if I look as surprised as they do when they open it?”

“Learn to act somewhat convincingly?” Tony suggested, and bent down to pick up the box again. Bruce grabbed the other side and helped him carry it from the lobby into the waiting car. It took several attempts, lots of swearing and more scientific thinking than should have been necessary, but they eventually managed to force it into the trunk. It was a miracle that the paper survived the whole ordeal without being torn to shreds.  

Steve and Bucky’s place was easily in walking distance, but as a result of the stupidly oversized gift, they ended up stuck in Manhattan Saturday traffic for almost an hour. “Was it worth it though?” Bruce asked seriously. He hated being stuck anywhere, but cars—no matter how fancy and well equipped with alcohol—were the worst.

Tony just grinned confidently, cocky as ever. “Of course it was worth it.”

When they arrived, everyone in the midst of a giant freak out. “You were meant to be here half an hour ago.” Jane said with a disapproving look. “They’re coming any minute. Natasha looked ready to murder.”

Tony grimaced. Annoying Natasha Romanoff was always a terrible idea. “It was Bruce’s fault.” Tony claimed, and Bruce gasped in mock outrage.

“Oh yeah, it was obviously my fault that your stupid gift was so huge that we couldn’t just walk here.”

“Stupid gift?” Clint seemingly popped up from nowhere, grinning like a loon. “It’s not going to be any more stupid than my gift, I can tell you. I have won the stupid gift competition this time.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. Right, Bruce? Isn’t my stupid gift the best?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Since you refused to tell me what it is, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to know.” He spotted Natasha on the other side of the room and made his way over to her, escaping the inanity of Tony and Clint’s arguing while he still had the chance. “What’s with this stupid gift thing?” He asked quietly.

“Oh, hey Bruce.” She greeted, smiling warmly at him. “You put me out of a job yet?”

“Not quite, but I’d start looking around for something if I were you.” He said, only half joking. “Because maybe you won’t want to work there any more when the truth comes out. Although Tony might be able to find a role for you at Stark Industries, if you wanted to do some good in the world.”

She laughed, and Bruce tried to hide his irritation. They might be something closer to friends now, but she still didn’t take their research seriously. It worried him. If they couldn’t convince their friends they were on to something, how were they going to persuade everyone else? “The gifts, though? This has been the bane of my morning.”

“It started as novelty socks and ties and stuff, but it kind of escalated into a pissing match between Tony and Clint where they try to prove that they’re the most fun.” She explained. Bruce groaned; that sounded exactly like the kind of unnecessarily time and money consuming argument that Tony relished. “I’m not exactly sure what Steve does with all the stuff, but it’s kind of hilarious.”

“So if I told you Tony’s was in a box over four feet long that barely fit in the car, you’d be worried?”

“Oh, this is going to be _good_.”

“Bruce! Nat! They’re here!” Thor bellowed across the room. Bruce hurried back over to stand with Tony, who someone had bravely (or stupidly) given a box of confetti, which he held with a pleased grin. Oh god.

The second Steve and Bucky stepped through the door, the place erupted in a cacophony of noise. Confetti flew everywhere, and Tony didn’t bother with aiming too well, preferring to just throw large handfuls over everyone and anyone’s head. “Who gave him confetti?” Steve asked indignantly, spluttering as he tried to spit some from his mouth. Thor took responsibility without any shame, still beaming despite the fact he had a fuck ton of coloured paper stuck in his beard.

But Steve quickly saw the funny side, snatching the box and tipping the rest of it over Tony’s head with relish. Tony responded by attempting to shove some down the collar of Steve’s shirt, but Rogers was far too quick. Bucky and Phil merely surveyed the scene in slight disbelief as chaos reigned supreme, and that was the first time Bruce thought he could really relate to them. “How did we get stuck with these _children_ for life?” Bucky asked him in disbelief as even Jane and Pepper got involved in an all-out confetti throwing war. Natasha stood to the side, which was probably for the best. If she got involved, Bruce was confident that everyone else would surrender in seconds.

“Matching is weird.”

“You can say that again.” He agreed, unable to hold back a smug grin as Steve mashed a handful of confetti into Tony’s hair, eliciting furious yells about styling and hair gel and _do you know how hard it’s going to be to get this out, Rogers_. “I think we just won.” He smirked, his fingers touched the leather strap on his wrist subconsciously.

They watched in silence for a few more minutes before Bucky gestured towards the drinks table. He nodded gratefully; he didn’t usually drink, but a beer would be really welcome about now, just to take the nervous edge off.

“Why did it take you two so long to register your Match?” Bruce blurted as Bucky handed him an opened bottle. He looked surprised at the question, and Bruce immediately regretted asking it. One day, he would learn that it’s not socially acceptable to pry into people’s Matches, but apparently that day was still a while away. Too late now, though, so he ploughed on. “Tony told me you guys Matched in high school. Why wait until now to make it official?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s pretty common for people to wait a few years. I don’t know. I guess we waited longer than most because we Matched so young. Sometimes people aren’t sure that they have Matched right away, if their trigger isn’t particularly obvious.”

“Yours was though, wasn’t it?” He said, trying to be at least slightly delicate by not mentioning anyone coming in their pants.

Bucky tutted. “Is there anyone that Stark hasn’t told about that? God. Yeah, I guess it was. But like I said, we were young. There was no rush.”

Clint interrupted their conversation by pouring a load of confetti over their heads and simultaneously jabbing them both firmly in the chest. “Stop being boring!” He whined.

“We’re not being boring, Barton; we’re being adults.” Bucky snapped, but Bruce couldn’t keep a straight face.

“Aw, come on, Bruce. Don’t be the boring one like Phil and Bucky.” Tony argued as he joined Clint, taunting Bruce with a grin on his face. Bruce couldn’t resist. He handed Bucky his beer, scooped a decent amount of confetti from the floor and charged, taking Tony by surprise and successfully tipping it down the neck of his shirt.

“Boring, am I?” He asked, smirking in satisfaction as Tony tried to remove it by doing a weird shaking dance, tugging at his shirt in annoyance. “I’ll give you boring. I have many years of experience in snowball fights with my cousin, and let me tell you, you should probably surrender now.”

“Never!” He yelled, flipping over the couch and nearly taking out Steve’s coffee table.

“Surrender, or the next one’s going down your pants.”

Tony pouted. “That is low, Banner, even for you.”

Bruce shrugged, trying not to laugh as he helped Tony up from his crumpled pile on the floor. “I’m not going to be losing any sleep over it, that’s for sure.”

“Have you guys finished?” Phil asked, smiling serenely at their collective stupidity. “Because food is ready.”

Tony immediately dropped their confetti war on the promise of something to eat, and Bruce followed. He wasn’t hugely hungry, but he knew Tony would clean out the entire table if he didn’t keep an eye on him. Besides, it looked damn good that it didn’t really matter that he wasn’t hungry. “Be sensible.” He warned Tony, only half teasing. “With the wine, too. I will have no pity for you if you leave puking up everywhere.”

“Okay, mom.” He said flippantly, but he heeded the warning. Leaving him to pile his plate high with fancy canapés and shit, Bruce went to speak to Steve.

“Congratulations.” He said with genuine happiness, shaking the man’s hand. Steve laughed and pulled him into a hug.

“Thanks, Bruce.” He grinned. He hadn’t stopped grinning since he and Bucky got home, giddy with the excitement of a new Match and a party. Bruce had never really been a hugger but it was nice from Steve. He appreciated the effort the man had gone to in making him feel comfortable in this new world. “I guess it’ll be you two in the next couple of weeks. Excited?”

“I think it’s slightly less of a celebration.” Bruce joked, taking off his glasses. “Like, it’s actually really quite crude. Semen samples are apparently involved. It’s hardly the most romantic of events.”

“Tony’s still going to want to celebrate.”

Bruce knew Steve was right. “Yeah, well, Tony would happily celebrate the sun rising each morning if he thought it could be a good enough excuse for a party.”

Steve burst out laughing, and Tony glared at them from across the room. “I know you’re laughing at me.” He scowled, but the effect was ruined slightly by the fact he had a mini sausage roll stuffed in his mouth.

“He really likes you.” Steve said delicately, in an ‘I really mean that he’s in love with you’ kind of way, quiet enough for Tony to not hear.

“I really like him, too.” Bruce replied, trying not to blush as they both knew he meant it with the same second meaning attached. It wasn’t something he’d spent time thinking about, but the words came without thinking, and he had no doubt that they were true. “We’re Matched. I don’t know how convinced you were by that, but it’s true.”

“I believe it.” Steve said simply, glancing over to where Tony was attempting to force feed Pepper some tiny burger sliders. She had the patience of a saint, that woman. “I see how you look at each other.”

Bruce blinked, surprised. “Well, if only SHIELD was as easy to convince as you.”

Steve shrugged. “You’re never going to get Garrett on your side. But the others…” He glanced at where Phil was still picking the last flecks of confetti from Clint’s hair, smiling at him with adorable fondness. “I bet some of them will surprise you.”

Bruce mulled this over. He’d always kind of assumed that they would have to persuade all of the most senior SHIELD members to their argument, a feat that seemed nigh on impossible, but maybe Steve was right. Life sure would be easier if they had some allies in SHIELD—maybe the time had come to exploit Tony’s large network of connections to see where the support lay. At this point, it was pretty conclusive that Phil was on their side, at least.

“I think it’s time for presents.” Tony said with an enthusiastic grin, dragging his giant box towards Bucky. Steve gave Bruce a quick smile and went to help him tug the paper away from the outside. Tony looked on with a smug grin as they both flipped open the lid.

Steve pulled out a terrifyingly, unnecessarily oversized plushie of a puppy draped in the American flag, so big he could barely lift it out of the box. It was the softest and fluffiest thing that Bruce had ever seen in his entire life, and entirely utterly ridiculous. Steve just raised a single unsurprised eyebrow. “Wow, Tony. Thanks so much.” He said completely deadpan. “Are you ever going to drop the American flag thing?”

Tony grinned. “Nope.” Bruce knew he was missing something, and it was in moments like these that he felt most estranged from the life he shared with Tony. He might get on well with Tony’s friends; they were more than welcoming and genuinely nice people (and then Barton), but he didn’t have a place in their shared history. Every joke had to be explained to him because he wasn’t there to understand them properly.  It was actually a relief to him that Tony never found the need to explain most of them—other people’s in-jokes were rarely funny out of context, and Bruce didn’t need to feel any more out of place. “Come on, Barnes. Your turn.” Tony prompted, unable to hold in the smirk.

Bucky scowled at him, and not for the first time he marvelled at his Match’s bravery (or perhaps stupidity) when it came to taunting Barnes. Like, he was a perfectly nice guy but Bruce highly suspected that he could kill him with only his little finger and a toothpick.  He heaved his giant puppy out of the box, a shaggy black bear-like thing compared to Steve’s golden Labrador. Clint snorted with laughter and Tony clearly took that as a win.

“Thanks so much, Stark.” Bucky said, but he was smiling just a little under his enforced scowl. “How thoughtful of you.” Tony beamed, happy that his comically oversized stuffed animals (seriously where does he find these things?) had done their job spectacularly. Bruce wasn’t sure he wanted to know why Bucky’s looked like it was meant to be a ninja.

“You’re up, Barton.” He jibed, confident as ever. Bruce rolled his eyes; God, this bunch were ridiculous, like dealing with petulant children.

Clint just smirked in response, not shaken at all, and pushed a relatively small gift box at Bucky. He took it gingerly, holding it at arm’s length between two fingers with suspicion.

“It’s not going to explode, I promise.” He said, but the way he was sniggering suggested something was up.

Bucky rolled his eyes, and ran a finger underneath the tape. “You said that last time.” He muttered, and slipped the box out of the wrapping with due caution. “And we had to redecorate half the kitchen.” He opened the lid, his expression impossible to read. “Wow, thanks Barton.” He said flatly, passing the box to Steve. He burst out laughing when he opened it, and then passed it around the circle. Bruce was only half terrified when it came around to him.

It was a cock ring. Red, white and blue.

“Might even _stop_ you exploding, in fact.” Clint said with a smirk, winking at Tony.

“Fuck you.” Bucky growled at Clint, but he saw the funny side. “One time, Barton. _One time_. And you have to fucking tell the entire world.”

“And now you can make sure it stays at just one time.”

Tony howled with laughter. “I say with a heavy heart that you might have beaten me on the gift, Barton. You are brave, my friend. Brave and stupid.”

*

Tony didn’t seem too disappointed about his gifts being overshadowed by Clint’s—possibly because Clint’s was so funny—and he was in a good mood as they walked home. Predictably, it took them a fraction of the time to walk than it did to drive there, and Tony had actually heeded his warning about not drinking too much so could even walk in a straight line without any trouble. Bruce had kept an eye on him throughout the evening—he’d barely drank a drop, in fact, which was odd. Even when he was being sensible, Tony wouldn’t usually turn down a few drinks. “That was fun.” He said as they left. Bruce had soon learned that good company and better food was a sure fire way to make sure Tony had a good time, and parties like that were sure to fit the bill. “They’re sweet together.”

Bruce nodded in agreement but he didn’t really know what to add, so he carried on walking in silence. There was a weird atmosphere between them, the silence seeming unnatural somehow, but he couldn’t place what it was. “Your friends are nice.” He said after a while, feeling an overwhelming pressure to break the silence. “They’re good people.”

“Too good to be friends with me.” Tony joked, but Bruce could tell it wasn’t all humour. It saddened him that there was a part of Tony who genuinely believed he didn’t deserve his own friends. “I’m glad you like them, but you know you can have other friends, right?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Oh, really? I can? I am permitted to do so?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I know. But between the research and us and the fact I’ve only been here about six weeks, I haven’t exactly had much time for socialising.” He explained. Honestly though, he did like Tony’s friends. If they didn’t mind having him around from time to time, he was happy enough to be there. He didn’t require much socialising anyway.

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Tony said. They walked almost the entire rest of the way to the tower in silence, which was very unusual for Tony. Bruce was usually impressed if he can make it thirty seconds without opening his mouth for some reason or another, but not today.

“Tony, what’s wrong?” He said eventually, pulling him to a halt just before they got within earshot of the lobby. “You’re not talking to me; you’re barely looking at me. Something’s wrong. You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Tony.” Bruce said flatly. He wasn’t stupid. Something was clearly bothering Tony and _God_ , if this was another guilt complex thing about Steve and Matching and who knows what else, Bruce needed to get to the bottom of it. This entire mess was in no way Tony’s fault. “Talk to me, come on. Use your words, buddy.”

“I was thinking.” He said reluctantly, ore looking at the ground than at Bruce. “That. Um.” Bruce raised his eyebrows silently. Anything that Tony struggled with this much that had come about from him _thinking_ was unlikely to be a good idea. “That we should have sex. Now. Tonight. If you want.”

… Huh. Bruce couldn’t say he was expecting that. He only had to consider it for a few moments. “Okay.” He said simply, and carried on walking to the door. Tony scrabbled to catch up with him about three seconds later.

“I swear, I’m not drunk, and if you don’t want to, it’s fine, but I just thought maybe—”

“Tony, I already said okay.”

“No, I know, I just meant—Wait, what?”

“You think we should have sex. I agree.” He said calmly, as calmly as he could with his heart pounding in his chest so much he was surprised Tony couldn’t hear it. “Let’s do it.”

“Seriously? We still have another nine days, and it doesn’t sound like much but… You don’t have to… I shouldn’t have said anything. Pretend I never spoke.”

“Tony, do yourself a favour and _shut up_.” He felt so exasperated by this, by Tony thinking he had to tiptoe around him, walking on eggshells. He wasn’t that delicate, and he was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. Most of the time. “I don’t think we should have sex tonight because we’ve only got nine days left. I think we should have sex tonight because I’m horny and you’re really, _really_ attractive and I want to have sex with you. This isn’t about Matching or SHIELD or the research or any of that bullshit. It’s about _us_. So yes, I will happily accept your offer of mind-numbingly good sex this evening, thank you very much.”

Okay, so the receptionist heard every word of that. Excellent. Good job the poor guy was used to dealing with much more shit than that.

“O… kay.” Tony sounded slightly unconvinced, but got into the elevator alongside Bruce trying to suppress a smile.

“You know, for someone as arrogant as you are, you sure can be insecure sometimes. Having sex with you isn’t exactly going to be some awful ordeal for me. Getting fucked until my brains turn to mush isn’t much of a hardship, Tony. I might even _possibly_ enjoy it. A lot. So stop worrying.”

For the millionth time, Bruce seriously regretted pushing for this on the first night. It would have been so much easier, so much less tense if he’d listened to Tony and taken it slowly. He was the one who set their progress back before they’d even begun, but weeks later, Tony still demanded to shoulder all the blame. It was infuriating.

“So I’m fucking you?” Tony said quietly, and Bruce paused, expecting him to protest a bit more, the idiot.

“Uh. I don’t… I don’t mind?” He’d assumed Tony topped. Which was a dumb assumption, because it was entirely baseless. He’d asked Tony to top last time because he was 98% he wasn’t going to get it up (which should have been a giant indicator in itself that it was not a good idea) but he actually had no idea of Tony’s preferences.

He’d not really had enough sex to be concerned either way. “Do you have a preference?”

Tony shrugged. “Not particularly, but…” He trailed off.

“But you want me to fuck you.” He said, figuring that if he didn’t make a decision they’d be here all evening debating it. Tony smiled—not his usual cocky smirk but a real, genuine smile—and Bruce smiled back, excited and nervous in equal measure. “Sounds good to me.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally it's the chapter you've all been waiting for since you saw that lil E rated sticker in the tag
> 
> also @ all the people in the comments last week re tony being desperately in need of domination we are 100% on the same page

They couldn’t even make it to the penthouse before their mouths crashed together in a bruising embrace, more teeth and tongue than lips. Bruce wanted this. Oh God, Bruce wanted this so bad. Tony wasted no time in pinning him against the wall, one hand bracing against the cool metal beside Bruce's head as the other clutched tightly at his waist. He stood with his thigh between Bruce's legs, daring him, almost, to grind against it.

The temptation was so real, but he knew he wouldn't last long if he started with too much enthusiasm. He just didn’t have that kind of stamina any more. In fact, he’d never had that kind of stamina.

Tony didn't kiss him, not immediately—instead, he moved his head to catch Bruce's lower lip between his teeth, momentarily teasing the flesh before backing off with a smirk. It was frustrating, so god damn frustrating, and so, so hot. Bruce wanted to spin Tony around and kiss the fuck out of him, kiss him until he gasped for breath, but Tony wasn't letting him go anywhere.

He took his time, touching his lips to Bruce's for barely a second before drawing away, moving to kiss or bite another patch of skin. By the time the elevator smoothly stopped at the top floor, Bruce was leaning into Tony, trying to make every touch last longer. “Will you fucking kiss me? Properly?” He snapped eventually, three seconds from trying to rub one out on Tony's leg because shit, he was that turned on. Tony didn't hesitate in obliging immediately after stepping out into the penthouse, as if he was just _waiting_ for Bruce to get frustrated enough to have to ask.

He wasn't sure he'd ever kissed Tony like this—hell, he wasn't sure he'd ever kissed anyone like this—soft lips and only the barest hint of tongue. It was soft, gentle, dare he say romantic, different to Tony's usual method of fucking into his mouth until he was weak at the knees and could barely remember his own name. All he could focus on was Tony's warm body pressed against him, large hands on his back, at his waist, lips moving softly, carefully against his. When Tony finally pulled away, he looked as surprised as Bruce felt. “Tony... I...” He managed, not really sure what to say. Not really sure if there was anything to say, or whether that kiss had pretty much done it already.

“Yeah.” He said quietly, the words blank, his mind elsewhere. “Yeah, I know.”

It wasn’t quite an _I love you_ —Bruce wasn’t sure if they were at that point yet (even though it was true, at least for him)—but he couldn't help but think that exchange was pretty damn close to it. Tony had changed everything, upturned his entire life. He'd gone from a joke, working on a project not even he fully believed in, to someone _Reed Richards_ kind of took seriously. From a cockroach infested cardboard box to a New York mansion. From solitude to... to this, to be wanted, to being desired, to being looked at like he was the most beautiful thing on the damn planet. From solitude to _wanting Tony back_.

Bruce had never been hugely bothered by sex, but at that moment he wanted it like nothing else.

“Bedroom?” Tony said, a hint of doubt entering his voice.

“Bedroom.” Bruce replied firmly, because he could never doubt this. Why wouldn't Tony fucking understand that? He led the way, walking with confidence to Tony's bedroom door, not thinking about the first time he’d done this same walk. The sheets were neatly pressed and folded down and pillows plumped; usually, the blankets were left in a crumpled pile, because Tony Stark did not have time to make the bed. “You totally planned this.” Bruce said, and Tony looked sheepishly down at the ground. “You do realise you can talk to me about stuff like this, right? Even after all this time, you still tiptoe around me when it comes to sex and it's so different to what you're usually like and it's weird. You need to relax. Strut.”

“Strut?” Tony said in disbelief, an eyebrow raised.

“Strutting is your speciality, isn't it?” Bruce responded with a grin. He stepped closer to Tony, unbuttoned the top of his shirt to run a finger across his collar bone. “Don't ever question how I feel about you.” He murmured, looking up at Tony. The man looked somewhat surprised, his lips parted adorably, and Bruce couldn't resist giving him a quick kiss. “I know you want this, Tony. You've made it pretty damn clear how much you want this. And I want it too, okay? A lot. So please stop overthinking this.” Tony didn't reply, so Bruce undid another button. “Tones, come on. I thought we were over this. You didn't freeze up like this when I jerked you off. Or when you got on your knees and sucked my dick in the garage.” He said as he kissed the newly revealed skin, his voice lowering slightly.

“Right. Right, yeah.” He said finally, snapping out of whatever spiralling descent into guilt he'd been falling into. “Sorry. I just... Is it weird if I say I never expected this?” He said nervously, and Bruce thought it was probably the most honest Tony had ever been with him—Tony, with his arrogance and bravado, usually acted like being Unmatched was just another aspect of his quirky public image. He bottled up his vulnerabilities like the emotionally constipated idiot that he was, not sharing his feelings even with Bruce. It was exhausting.

“Is this another one of those things where you don't believe you deserve to be happy?” He asked with a frown. “It is, isn’t it? Jesus, Tony…”

Tony shrugged. “Fate's never exactly been straight forward with me. You really blame me for thinking that maybe that was because I didn't deserve it?”

Jesus. This was worse than he thought. Bruce kissed him again; Tony always responded much better to physical affection anyway. “You. Are. An. Idiot.” He said with utmost fondness, alternating each kiss between his words, and pulled him down on to the bed. He wasted no time in undoing a couple more buttons, kissing down his chest, kissing and licking over the scarring that he didn't know the origins of. God, there was still so much about Tony that he didn't know, but that didn't scare him any more. If anything, it was exciting. So much more to learn and plenty of time to do it in.

“Bruce—God.” Tony spluttered as Bruce licked over a nipple, pushing the fabric aside for better access. “That's—more, oh God, please.” Bruce did as he was instructed, enjoying Tony being so damn responsive, and bit down on the sensitive buds of flesh. The moan that came from Tony's mouth was frankly _obscene_. Bruce kept licking, nipping gently with his teeth as he fought with the last few buttons and shoved the shirt over Tony's shoulders, exposing prominent veins and well defined muscle.

“You’re so fucking _hot_.” Bruce murmured, still slightly disbelieving that Tony was real. He reached over to the bedside cabinet, remembering where the supplies were kept from last time, but Tony pulled him back down before he had the chance to open it. “What?” He asked in confusion.

“Take your fucking clothes off.” He growled. Bruce laughed, and managed about three buttons before Tony got impatient and ripped it open. “Much better.”

“Hey!” He protested weakly, shrugging the tattered remains of his shirt off of his shoulders with some regret. “That was a perfectly nice shirt. What did those buttons ever do to you?”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Tony promised, as he returned the kisses across Bruce’s newly bared chest. He can feel Tony’s smile against his skin, clearly pleased with himself and his own resourcefulness.

“That’s not… Tony, you know that’s not the point.” He frowned, distracted by the sad sight of the ruined shirt thoughtlessly thrown to the floor.

“You’re really going to do this now?” He growled, swiping the rough pad of his thumb over Bruce’s nipple and pinching it gently. Bruce moaned, tried to concentrate on the point he’d been trying to make. “Seriously? Like, I love you, Bruce, but I really need you to _not do this now._ ”

Tony pulled him back down with a hand around the back of his neck to kiss him some more (God, they kissed a lot) but Bruce didn’t respond—couldn’t respond. “What?” Tony said, sounding equally worried and annoyed. “Come on, Bruce, you’re not actually mad about the shirt, are you? I didn’t mean… Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know how you feel about my disregard for material possessions or whatever, but—”

“Tony?” Bruce interrupted quietly, and he fell silent. “You just… You said you…”

Tony paused, and Bruce could practically see his brain rewinding over the last thirty seconds of interaction. “Oh.” He said finally, and he sounded as surprised as Bruce felt. “I… Uh. Um. Well… Yeah. I love you. Okay?”

Bruce smiled, stroked a hand through Tony’s hair and kissed him back. “Okay.” He said simply. “I love you too, incidentally.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient?” He quipped before Bruce had the opportunity to shut him up with another kiss, much longer this time, more forceful and, uh… dirtier. “Fuck.” Tony gasped when he finally came up for air, lips reddened and pupils dilated and dick hard as a rock against Bruce’s thigh. “You really need to get those pants off. Like, stat.”

Bruce huffed out a laugh and rolled off Tony so that he could drop his slacks to the floor. By the time he’d kicked his underwear off  too, Tony watched him hungrily, an arrogant smirk on his face. “What?” Bruce said, throwing his socks aside and feeling really stupid, because there exists no way to sexily remove socks.

“You _love_ me.” Tony trilled, and Bruce rolled his eyes. He did. He really, really did.

“Shut up, Stark.”

“Make me, Banner.”

“Deal.” Bruce obliged by crawling back on to the bed and licking across Tony’s balls.

“Fuck!” Tony shouted, head collapsing into the mountain of pillows he deemed necessary to have on his bed for occasions like this. “Bruce, fuck, again—please.”

“What, this?” Bruce asked innocently, and did it again, alternating between licks and sucks as he revelled in Tony’s squirming with pleasure above him. He loved how responsive Tony was, not bothering to hold back any noise.

“Yes, _yes_ , oh god—”

He licked again, enjoying Tony’s response greatly, before moving a little lower, tongue flicking over his perineum. The moment Tony figured it out, slowed by the fact his mind was definitely elsewhere, was obvious. “Bruce, you… Oh _fuck._ ” He managed as Bruce reached his hole, just sweeping his tongue across the pucker teasingly. “Bruce, oh god, I love you, I love you so much, p-please—”

It’d been a long, long time since he’d done this for someone. Not all guys cared for it, but Tony? Tony definitely did. He was even more vocal than normal, babbling declarations of love merging into indistinguishable moans as he fucked his tongue into Tony’s ass.

He slipped his index finger in too, Tony’s hole stretched enough already to accommodate it without any extra lube. He swore so loudly that Bruce reckoned they could be heard from the damn street as he pushed his tongue back in beside the finger, the noises Tony made going straight to Bruce’s dick. It was sticky and there was spit everywhere, but he was far too turned on to care. “Bruce, please… I need you to fuck me.”

“You _need_ it, do you?” He teased slipping another finger in place of his tongue. It didn’t go in as easily as the first, the spit alone not providing enough lubrication, but Tony didn’t seem to care. “Where’s the lube, Tony?” He teased. He knew where it was, of course, but it got Tony more riled up than ever.

“Drawer!” He gasped. A drop of pre-come had dribbled from his dick, hard and flushed and curved against his stomach.

Bruce pulled away briefly, grabbing the lube from the other side of the bed and squirting a large blob on to his hand. While it was already pretty slick, he wasn’t going to take any chances. Tony squirmed at the sudden absence of contact, and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh at his impatience. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.” He said softly, and he wasn’t sure whether he meant the wait for proper prep or the wait for the past seven weeks or the wait for the last five years. It didn’t really matter, he decided. The sentiment was the same.

He went straight back in with two fingers, having already stretched Tony out a bit, and Tony bit his lip to stop himself moaning. “Don’t bother.” Bruce advised, fucking the fingers in a little more. “I like it when you’re loud. It lets me know I’m doing something right.”

“Jesus, Bruce… I’m not sure there’s anything that you could do wrong right now.” He joked. Bruce didn’t miss the way his fingers gripped the bedsheets, trying to keep himself from touching too soon. “Except not fucking putting another finger in right now, _damn_ it!”

Bruce chuckled, and did as he was so eloquently told. Tony gasped at the stretch, his hips canting up involuntarily as Bruce fucked him open. It was obvious when he succeeded in brushing against his prostate—Bruce was expecting a shout, knowing how loud Tony could be, but was rewarded instead with a cut off choked moan, and silence, like it had literally rendered Tony speechless. “So that’s what it takes to shut you up, huh? If only I’d known that a month ago.”

Tony tried to respond, probably going to say something sarcastic and biting, but Bruce brushed against that sensitive little nub once more, and Tony swallowed his words, shudders riding along his body. _Jesus_. He didn’t know whether Tony was just unbelievably responsive or if maybe, sex with your Match was just really fucking intense, but either way, he really approved.

“Please—” Tony started, but Bruce was having way too much fun. “Bruce, s-seriously—if you keep doing that, we’re not going to get as far as sex.”

“Does that always happen?” Bruce teased, but he relented. As fun as it was, he really did want to have sex with Tony. Right now.

Tony shook his head, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain his composure. “No, uh… This is a _you_ thing, apparently.”

“It’s pretty damn funny.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He spread his knees as wide as they would go, letting Bruce settle between his legs. He wiped his hands on the sheets, not giving a fuck about the mess for once, and took a gentle but firm grip of Tony’s hips, steadying himself more than Tony. He stilled instantly, taking a deep breath. “You ready?” Bruce checked one last time.

“Ready when you are.” He responded. Bruce guessed that was supposed to sound sure, cocky even. It didn’t. Tony sounded as nervous as he felt, but as excited as him as well. Nervous but excited. They could do this.

Bruce guided his cock into Tony’s ass slowly, giving him time to adjust. God, he was so tight. Despite his thorough prep, the pressure and heat around his cock was almost too much, the slight drag sending jolts of pleasure through his body. Tony had his eyes screwed tightly shut, breathing deeply in and out like some kind of crazy X rated meditation. “Tones, you sure—” He said, slightly worried. Tony’s eyes flickered open, and Bruce couldn’t miss the pupils blown wide with lust. Tony was sure. He nodded jerkily, fists full of bed sheet once more, and Bruce nudged a little deeper, his hands still clutching onto Tony like a life line.

Bruce froze as Tony wrapped his legs around his back, locking them together. “Sorry.” Tony mumbled. “Legs were getting tired in that position.”

“Comfy now?” Bruce teased.

“Mm.”

He kept moving, fucking in a little more each thrust until his body was flush with Tony’s. He took a few deep breaths, centring himself so he wouldn’t just come as soon as he moved.

“How do you feel?” Tony whispered after a minute or so. Usually Bruce would have laughed at the question, more like an interrogation than a quick mid-sex check, but he knew exactly what Tony meant. Admittedly he hadn’t slept with that many people, but this was a fucking otherworldly experience, everything heightened and more intense than usual. Their hormones had kicked into overdrive and this was the result.

“So good. Unbelievably good.” He said honestly. “You’re— _God,_ you’re so beautiful, Tony. You’re perfect _._ ”

His legs tensed around Bruce’s back as he rolled his hips, his dick brushing against Tony’s prostate as he moved. Tony moaned, a cacophony of curses falling from his lips. Bruce’s fingers tightened even more against Tony’s hips, tight enough that he would probably see light bruises the next day, and that only made Tony gasp more. He tucked that nugget of information away with the whole hair pulling thing—Tony Stark liked it rough, apparently. Fine with him.

“Bruce, I swear…” He stammered, barely forming words with Bruce’s dick still flush against his prostate. He could feel electricity sparking between them, their bodies thrumming from the connection binding them together.  “Please, Bruce, I need… I need more. Please.” He moaned between liberal uses of the word ‘fuck’, and Bruce was only too happy to oblige. He thrust in a little harder, maintaining a rhythm steady enough to drive Tony to incoherent moans, but not enough to let him come. Tony reached down to palm roughly at his dick, trapped between their stomachs, but Bruce slapped his hand away lightly.

“Did I say you could touch?” He reprimanded, and Tony actually honest to God _whimpered_.

“Bruce, please, I can’t… it’s too much, I need… I need…”

“You need more?” He asked with a grin, his hips snapping forward ever faster, turning Tony’s words into nonsense as they left his lips. “Or less?” He pulled out completely without any warning, leaning over Tony to kiss him sweetly on the lips. Tony let out a broken sob. “You’ve got to communicate, Tones.” He knew exactly what Tony wanted—that was the thing with Matching, he supposed, but this teasing was just too much fun.

“More! Shit, I need to come, Bruce, _please_!”

Oh God. Did that count as begging? Was Tony Stark _begging_ right now? It was an indisputably gorgeous sight, his eyes wide and dark, soft pink lips parted as he gasped desperately for air, his cock leaking steadily onto his belly. Tony fucking Stark, begging. What a thing to behold.

“You’re so beautiful.” Bruce murmured into his ear, before kissing gently down his neck. “So beautiful and desperate for me.”

“Please—” He managed, his voice trembling. Bruce wondered how many other people had got to see Tony like this. Was he always so open, so honest when he was being fucked, or was this another exclusive Matching privilege? He hoped it was the latter, because no one else deserved to have Tony like this. He didn’t even deserve to have Tony like this.

“God, I love you so much.” He said quietly. Tony smiled, blissed out for about two seconds before Bruce fucked into him mercilessly, slamming deep in just one smooth movement.

Tony _screamed_.

Bruce kept up the pace, pounding Tony’s prostate, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer—but neither could Tony, so who cared? The heat, the pressure around his dick was almost too much to bear, the feel of Tony’s body so close to his, touching at every possible point.

“Bruce, I’m… I’m so close, I’m gonna—” Tony moaned, totally broken, his hair matted to his forehead from sweat, lips red from biting down on them to swallow his moans. He looked _filthy_.

“It’s okay, Tony.” He reached down to touch Tony’s dick. It barely took two pumps before he came. Loudly. The orgasm rocked through Tony’s body, Bruce gently stroking him through it as his thrusts slowed. God he was close too. He knew Tony wouldn’t take much more stimulation but he wanted, _needed_ to come in Tony’s ass. It wasn’t a thing that usually bothered him, but this time?

He slowed his fist as he milked the last of Tony’s orgasm from him. He shuddered, his ass clenching involuntarily as the last drops of come dribbled from the tip, and that was the last straw for Bruce. Seeing Tony, fucked out, exhausted, sated, and covered in his own semen was apparently all it took for him to come with a quiet moan, before collapsing on top of Tony with a happy sigh.

He didn’t even care that he’d just landed in Tony’s come.

“Bruce?” Tony said a minute or two later, once Bruce had rolled off of him before he got squished and made himself comfortable snuggled up next to him.

“Hmm?”

“That was awesome.”

Bruce laughed. “I definitely agree. You know what else?”

“We Fulfilled.” Tony smiled. “Matched forever, motherfuckers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i just want to add that you guys are awesome and to draw your attention to the now updated chapter counter. i know. i'm sorry. there's only two chapters left. :(
> 
> (there might be a sequel. and by 'might be' i mean i am over 10k of the way into a sequel. but i can guarantee it is not what you are expecting lmao it's like part sequel part spin off anyway i'm really excited about it so i hope some of you guys will come along for the ride more deets soon what happened the the grammar in these parentheses)


	17. Chapter 17

“I hate this place.” Bruce muttered as he returned once more to the dingy grey waiting room of the New York Matching Office. Tony squeezed his hand comfortingly; at least this time it was somewhat less obvious they were Auto. To the random strangers sat on uncomfortable chairs, they could be registering a Match, a real Match.

They _should_ be registering a real Match.

Fortunately, Natasha was apparently running early, and beckoned them into her office as soon as they arrived. The room looked exactly the same as Bruce remembered, and even though they were kind of friends now, she seemed just as scary to him. “Coffee?” She asked, indicating the espresso machine in the corner, and Tony nodded. She set about making three cups, and handed one to each of them before sitting down with her own. “Don’t stand on ceremony, boys.” She rolled her eyes as Bruce sat cautiously on the edge of the chair while Tony made himself comfortable.

There was a moment of silence while Natasha looked between the two of them curiously. “So, what is it to be?”

“We want to have our status changed from Initiation to Matched.”

“You... Okay.” She said, very nearly managing to hide her surprise. Bruce tried really hard not to blush, knowing what Natasha was probably thinking. What was she expecting? It was the only way forward that made sense. It could take months, years, until they could prove that their Match was real. They didn't have years. They had ninety three hours. No matter what else, no matter how shady and questionable SHIELD's ethics were, Bruce refused to lose Tony over this, and Auto would always be an infinitely better option than nothing.

“You need to do some tests before your Match can be confirmed.” She said, even the consummate professional looking a little flustered as she took two little sample cups from her desk. “We need-”

“We know what you need, Nat. It's fine.” Tony said, snatching one up. “There's no need to look so fucking on edge. No matter what Garrett night have told you, we're not _planning_ anything. You were here when we signed the papers—our Auto is legally binding, and you can rest assured that one day—whether it’s next week or in twenty years’ time, we will have our status changed to a real Match.” Tony stood up, kicked the door open and stormed across the waiting room, ignoring the stares he drew.

Bruce and Natasha both watched the office door close in silence. “I’m sorry.” Bruce said eventually. “It isn’t fair of him to take this out on you.”

Natasha smiled at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m used to it, Banner. And he’s kind of right, you know. Garrett tripled security after you two booked this appointment today. He thinks you’re going to do something drastic.”

“He’s scared.” He stated, unable to help feeling some satisfaction.

Natasha nodded. “Garrett is on a short list of senior figures to replace Fury as SHIELD Director when he retires next year. It’s highly competitive, and you have to be squeaky clean. If there’s any truth to allegations of corruption or bias, they’ll quietly drop him from consideration.”

“Good.” Bruce stated flatly. He knew that they had more than enough evidence to create reasonable doubt—with a few supporters, a few others like Coulson on their side, they really might have the chance to change something. “I should…” He gestured awkwardly at the little cup still sat on Nat’s desk, and she handed it to him with well-practised professional courtesy.

“Sure. It’s the second room on your left.” He nodded and left the room, trying not to make eye contact with any one as he crossed the waiting room with the tell-tale cup in his hand.

By the time he’d done his business and handed over his sperm sample, Tony was sat in the waiting room again, staring blankly at a magazine he obviously wasn’t reading. “You doing okay?” He asked carefully as he sat down. “You kind of flipped out in there. That’s usually my job. You’re meant to be the sensible one.”

Tony laughed quietly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.” Not knowing what else there really was to say, Bruce just sat next to him in silence. This wasn’t exactly how he expected this day to go; honestly, he was expecting more festivities, expecting Tony to be if not happy then at least talking to him.

“Everyone is looking at us like we’re scum.” Tony said bitterly after a few minutes’ silence. It wasn’t loud enough for anyone around them to hear, but Tony was right. It was a pretty quiet day in the SHIELD Matching Office, but the three couples around them were now practically taking turns to glance over at them in disgust. Bruce shrugged—people looking at him like he was scum had been pretty normal for him well before he became eligible for Auto.

“Ignore them.”

“Way easier said than done, Banner.” He said under his breath. “I can’t… I’m not used to dealing with this. People don’t usually dare—”

Bruce laughed. Tony even managed to be Unmatched with privilege. “Seriously Tony, they’re not worth paying attention to. C’mere, idiot. Why don’t we give them something real to stare at?”

He cupped Tony’s face in both hands, and pulled their lips together. After freezing up momentarily to begin with, Tony relaxed into the embrace even though he felt every pair of eyes in the room fixed upon them. The incessant muttering got louder and louder every second that the kiss lasted, and Bruce could feel Tony’s lips twisting into a grin. Fuck these bigoted idiots.

“Mr Stark? Mr Banner?” A prim voice said pointedly, and they pulled apart, not at all embarrassed. The receptionist glared at them like they were polluting her waiting room. “Ms Romanoff’s room is free now. May I recommend you wait in her office, please?”

Bruce tried not to laugh as he shuffled Tony towards Nat’s door before he could point out that it was, in fact, _Dr Banner._ They still had to wait for their test results, but in Natasha’s vacant office instead, where not being judged by the ignorant fucks around them seemed to make time strangely go much faster.

“If you guys had sex in my office, I am returning your gift.” Natasha said when she eventually returned, a thick brown envelope in her hand. “Seriously. If anything needs disinfecting, I swear—”

Tony scoffed. “Come on, Nat. Do you really think Bruce would let us have sex in your office? He’s far too courteous for that.”

“Good point.” Natasha said, looking at the two of them with a small fond smile. “Well, much to Garrett’s disappointment, you two are free to go.”

“Seriously?” Tony said with some surprise. “He’s not even going to make us jump through a few more hoops? Do a few back flips, maybe?”

Natasha ignored him and handed the envelope she was clutching to Bruce instead. “That is your test results and certification. You may be required to provide it as evidence of a Match for any official purposes, including for employment or tax reasons.”

“So, official purposes like making sure everyone knows you’re on Auto?” Bruce asked innocently. “I guess it’s easier for everyone if we just let people know that they can discriminate against us with no concern of any repercussions.” He opened the envelope and checked their purported animaphiline levels. He wasn’t surprised to see that they ran in the low two hundred range. It was a little higher than their mean data, but nothing that would be called anomalous. “Isn’t it funny how the SHIELD analysts seem to have calculated it as being less than a quarter of what our data provided?” Bruce remarked casually. “Must be our mistake though, obviously. It’s totally impossible that anyone could have just doctored our tests to cover their own back. Say hi to Garrett for me.”

Tony snorted and stood up, following Bruce from the office. They didn't say anything until they had left the building and got back into the car, and Bruce couldn't tell if Tony was annoyed, or if he'd found the whole thing as ridiculous as he had. “So.” Tony said eventually, turning to look at him.

“So.” Bruce repeated seriously. “You're legally stuck with me forever. Bad luck, Stark.”

Tony laughed. “What a hardship. I’m going to have to put up with your giant brain and awesome sexing up skills for the rest of my life. However will I cope?”

“Banner?” A voice called after them—Natasha. “I’d recommend going down to Meeting Room 1 on the third floor before you leave. You don’t have to, but it’s a suggestion.” She disappeared again immediately, barely there for five seconds, and Bruce shook his head. God, he swore that woman was essentially a ninja.

“Did you organise a Matching party _in SHIELD property_?” Bruce asked in disbelief. Despite everything, he still hit the button stating ‘3’ on the elevator rather than the ground floor. “You don’t think that’s tempting fate a little, or maybe asking for Garrett to come and arrest you?”

Tony shrugged. “Not a Matching party. This is nothing to do with me.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Bruce said flatly, and stepped on to the third floor corridor as soon as the doors opened. Wholly expecting a loud SURPRISE followed by a rambunctious party to be hidden behind the door, he was unsettled when the room seemed—at first glance—to be empty. “Tones, what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” He said quietly, stepping around Bruce into the room. “But I have a feeling they might be able to tell us. Fitz. Simmons.”

And sure enough, the two (slightly bizarre) scientists were tucked away in the corner of the room, and Bruce hadn’t spotted them. “I hear a congratulations is in order!” Simmons beamed, hurrying over to shake their hands.

“Yeah, whatever. What’s happened? You wouldn’t risk meeting us in a SHIELD building unless it was something that couldn’t wait.” Bruce said quickly, not particularly bothered by sentiment right now. “Something’s happened with the research.”

Fitz nodded. “Garrett knows. He knows you gave it to us—I don’t know how, but he does. It’s not going to be the quiet, under the radar release we were hoping for, that’s for sure.”

Tony swore under his breath.

“Can’t we just publish it ourselves? Tony, you must know people.” Bruce suggested, but the frown on Simmons’ face suggested otherwise.

“If it goes through SHIELD, he can’t argue that he hasn’t seen it without sounding negligent. If it’s published independently, no-one can prove that he hasn’t read it. I mean, everyone will suspect that he knows about it and is ignoring it, but there’s no precedent for him to take it into account unless it’s verified by Sci-Tech.” She explained. “But he doesn’t have the authority to stop research papers getting published. We can still do it.”

Tony shook his head. “You’d lose your jobs. Both of you. That’s not fair. This is our fight, not yours. I won’t let you do it.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” Fitz said quietly, but the firmness of his words took Tony aback. “We’ve discussed it—thoroughly. Seriously. There were graphs.”

Simmons flushed a little. “There _may_ have been graphs.”

“We want to help you. And if we lose our jobs, then… well, maybe one day SHIELD will sort itself out and realise that firing us was definitely a mistake.” Fitz said with a grin. “We’re far too qualified for this mundane shit anyway.”

Bruce smiled fondly. Fitzsimmons might be a little weird, but they certainly meant well. “Well, if you ever need anything, let us know. Or, well, let Tony know, since he’s the one with the name and the money and the reputation. I’m officially volunteering his services to you, if you need them.”

*

When they made to back into the tower, Bruce was still expecting _something_ , so the lack of loud music and snacks and huge numbers of people when the elevator doors opened to the penthouse was surprising. “Seriously?” he asked, following Tony into the kitchen. “Nothing?”

Tony shrugged, and grabbed a bottle of champagne from the fridge. “Well, I did get some rather nice fizz.” Bruce watched as Tony expertly popped the cork and poured out two glasses, barely spilling a drop. He took one and sipped it—he might not be a great connoisseur of champagne, but even he knew that this was pretty fucking good. “Bruce, you made it pretty clear you didn’t want any kind of party. You really thought I’d go behind your back on that?”

“Well… Kind of?” He said, realising as he said it that Tony obviously never would. “It’s your day too, Tony. I didn’t want to stop you from celebrating with your friends, that’s all. It’s not my idea of a good time, but if you wanted a party, I wouldn’t have minded. You know that.”

“I can probably still organise one last minute. I can’t guarantee that it would be up to the usual Stark standards, but it would still be better than any other party you’ve ever been to.” Bruce shook his head slightly, and laughed. It was true enough. “So that’s a no?”

“Shut up, Tony.” He leant over the breakfast bar to kiss him, tasting champagne on his lips. It was unbelievably erotic for just a kiss—not even a filthy foreplay kind of kiss but a gentle embrace at which they were well practiced. They moved together instinctively, knowing what the other liked probably better than they knew themselves.

“I did make us a dinner reservation.” Tony said when they broke apart, a daft grin on his face that Bruce suspected was probably mirrored on his. “At that little Italian restaurant you like, with the really good fettucine. But I can cancel it if you’d rather… stay in.” The innuendo literally dripped from his words (aided by the quirked eyebrow) because Tony Stark was an incorrigible thirteen year old.

He checked his watch—it was only just after one in the afternoon. “I think we might _just_ be able to stop having sex in time to make a dinner reservation.” He said seriously. “But only just. I mean,  we should probably start soon. Just in case.”

Tony finished his glass of champagne and Bruce quickly drained his too. It felt like a bit of a waste, downing something that delicious, but also… he needed to get Tony out of the kitchen before they ended up fucking on the countertop.

“Hey, why don’t we—”

“We’re not having sex in the kitchen.”

Tony pouted. “Why not?”

“Because that’s gross, Tony. We eat in here.” He explained patiently, wondering exactly how this needed to be explained to an actual grown adult.

“But Bruce…” He grinned, fingers just below Bruce’s throat as he unfastened the topmost button on his shirt. He pressed his lips to the exposed skin briefly, and undid another. “You’re too sexy; I don’t think I can make it to the bedroom.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He said flatly, but co-operated when Tony got to the last button and pushed the shirt off of his shoulders. He went straight to work on his left nipple, teasing it between his teeth until it hardened before moving on to the other one. Bruce had never really thought about his nipples being sensitive, but Tony’s mouth was an actual gift from God and his cock was already stirring a little. “Bedroom, now.” He said firmly, swatting Tony’s hands away as he attempted to undo his trousers. “I’m serious. You’re not fucking me in the kitchen.”

“I’m fucking you this time?”

“Not if you don’t get your ass into that bedroom right now, you’re not.” Bruce joked, swatting him lightly on said ass to get him moving. He didn’t try to argue any further, practically sprinting into the next room.

*

A loud banging on the door jerked them unpleasantly from their post-sex snuggle and dumped them straight back into the real world. “You two have five seconds to get decent, and then I’m coming in.” Pepper yelled through the door, and Bruce barely had time to yank the blanket over his cock before she practically kicked the door down.

“You’ve had four missed calls that are apparently so urgent that they can’t wait.” She said, throwing Tony his mobile. “And JARVIS wasn’t getting through.”

Bruce glanced at the screen over Tony’s shoulder to see Simmons’ name lit up. Fuck.

“Well, I didn’t exactly want phone calls interrupting hot sex with my Match, did I?”

“Still annoying for everyone else, Stark. We all have actual jobs you know.” She said, but her smile gave her away almost instantly. She wasn’t very good at being annoyed at Tony. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m happy for you—we all are. I got you a present but it can wait until you actually put clothes on. And don’t forget that I made that dinner reservation for you at that Italian for eight tonight.”

Bruce waited until Pepper had gone before teasing Tony. “Oh no, Pepper made a booking as well. What a coincidence that is.”

“Shut up. It’s the thought that counts.” He wriggled out from Bruce’s arm and sat up properly in bed, staring at his phone. “That was quick. I wasn’t expecting anything to happen so quickly.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” He asked, troubled by the expression on Tony’s face. “We _want_ people to see it, Tony.” The look didn’t go away. “This is about Fitzsimmons, isn’t it?” He said as the realisation hit him. “They wanted to help. They knew the consequences.”

“We shouldn’t have involved them.”

“Garrett involved them!” Bruce pointed out with exasperation. “He involved them when he set them on my back, okay? They made their decisions. JARVIS, call Leo Fitz.” Tony looked annoyed as he snatched his phone and put it on loudspeaker, but Bruce ignored him. He refused to have another fight about Tony’s fucking guilt complex, not today.

“Hey!” He said happily when he picked up the phone. Bruce shot Tony a smug glance, and Tony scowled in return. Banter. “So the paper has officially been released to SHIELD and is on the list for review. It’ll probably take two to three weeks.”

“Garrett flipped out.” Jemma added, sounding equally as pleased. “Even better than you could have hoped. He came over to Sci-Tech this afternoon and had a huge fight with Victoria Hand. You could hear bits of it even from the labs. Scared the hell out of a load of new recruits.”

“And you got fired?”

“Not yet.” Fitz said, though his voice suggested it was only a matter of time. “Hand wouldn’t bend to his repeated insistence that what we’d done was a fireable offence. But he’ll come up with something soon enough.”

“Come and work for Stark Industries.” Tony blurted out. There was total stunned silence at the other end of the phone line for a good ten seconds before anyone responded.

“Uh, thanks for the offer, but—” Simmons stammered nervously.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. I’ve read your papers and they’re _good_. You’ve already said you’re too qualified for the shit SHIELD has you doing, and you’re definitely right. We need more people like you.” There was an attempt at a modest response but Tony cut them off. “Bruce, tell them it’s the best place to work ever.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to corroborate that, since I’m literally in bed with the boss.” Bruce said dryly. “But you should consider it. I can promise you that he’s not just asking out of politeness. We really would love to have you on the team. It gets tiring being the only sensible one sometimes.”

*

It only took nine days for the public outcry over the corruption allegations to get loud enough that SHIELD was forced to respond. Honestly Bruce was a little shocked that it all happened so quickly, though he supposed a combination of Fitzsimmons’ enthusiasm and Tony’s world class PR team probably helped matters greatly.

But Garrett still didn’t get fired. He didn’t even get forced to resign. The official press release only said, in the true spirit of government bullshit, that he had “regretfully” been temporarily suspended from active duty pending the results of an independent investigation into accusations of misconduct. Whatever. Garrett would inevitably get his job back soon enough, but hopefully this would constitute enough of a mark against him such that he had no chance of gaining a $5 pay rise, let alone a promotion. Certainly, his attempt at running for Congress would be well and truly sunk. Small victories.

A lot of people have read their work now, but Bruce suspected that the majority of people that understood it were currently sat in Tony’s lounge, flicking intently between slides and graphs and tables of data. “Mr Stark, I have Nick Fury from SHIELD on the line for you.” JARVIS interrupted smoothly, and Fitzsimmons looked up in shock—not at the AI, who they adjusted to much faster than Bruce did, but at the message.

They quit within twenty four hours of releasing the paper to Sci-Tech, taking just enough time to make sure that Tony wasn’t joking about the job offer. He wasn’t. Hand, under the circumstances, didn’t bother mentioning their contractual notice period, letting them leave immediately before one of Garrett’s minions was sent to get rid of them. Bruce had enjoyed having them around the past week; they had barely set foot outside the tower since they started, and their contribution has been invaluable. They knew a lot more about SHIELD that Tony did, despite the fact that he worked there for twelve years, and their knowledge of the research process helped a lot.

“That has to be about Garrett.” Fitz said, glancing between Tony and Bruce.

“Well, he’s hardly making a social call at this time, is he?” Bruce pointed out. While there was definitely some relation between scientists and being pretty much nocturnal, it was nearly 11pm. That might be early for them, sure, but it was far too late for any official SHIELD business. Besides, he was pretty sure Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD and one of the most powerful people in the country, didn’t frequently make calls to Tony Stark’s personal number in the middle of the night.

Or maybe he did. Tony had friends in all sorts of places—he’d learned that much pretty fast.

“Yeah, this is Tony Stark.” He said, sounding as bored as he could manage while simultaneously grinning like a small child. “I did hear about Garrett actually, funnily enough. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask—just how temporary _is_ a temporary suspension, exactly? This isn’t just one of those things where you pretend to take action to appease the public is it?” His voice claimed sugar sweet innocence, but no one was so naïve as to believe it. He paused for a good minute, rolling his eyes at Bruce as Fury droned on and on. “Well, I actually am _very_ busy.” He replied eventually, trying not to laugh. “I have a multibillion dollar company to run, a research paper to follow up on and a hot new Match to fuck into next week, in case you weren’t aware of any of that.”

 _Really? Really, Stark?_ Did he really have to say that to Nick fucking Fury? Bruce glared at Fitzsimmons, who were miserably failing at hiding their amusement. “Well, if you insist that it can’t wait…” He smirked at Bruce who pretty much wanted to floor to swallow him up. “Fine. Tomorrow at 10am. We’ll be there.”

Bruce waited until he’d hung up before berating him. “Okay, can you not talk about our sex life with such a blasé attitude to high ranking government employees in future? Please?” He rolled his eyes. Who was he kidding? That was pretty much Tony’s favourite hobby. It took a couple more seconds for the penny to drop. “Wait. _We’ll_ be there? As in, us both?”

“Fury wants to see you too, you massive hotshot. Asked for you specifically.”

“What on Earth would he want with me?” Bruce wondered aloud. It could only be an apology, which he knew would be insincere, so he really wasn’t interested. SHIELD couldn’t take back the damage they’d done, and the only way they could appease themselves in his book was to fix the system so that no one else gets put in their position again.

“Don’t be like that, Banner. You’re playing in the big leagues now. Maybe he wants to offer you a job.” Tony teased. “A vacancy has just opened up after all.”

“I think we’ve established that it’s barely a vacancy.” Bruce sighed. “And I doubt SHIELD has much interest in hiring me, Tony. I’m not exactly top employee material, seeing as, you know, I hate them and would happily see the whole place destroyed from the inside out.”

Fitz laughed, but Simmons frowned slightly. “Bruce, you shouldn’t paint the whole organisation with the same brush as John Garrett. He is a scum bag, sure, but SHIELD does a lot of good and necessary work. You don’t appreciate how many things that you take for granted are carried out by SHIELD. Look at Coulson. He’s worked for SHIELD for years, and he’s not one of the bad guys here. He’s been trying to help you out from the start.”

The laughter faded from Bruce’s face, and he looked at Jemma sheepishly. “Right. Of course. Sorry.” He said uncertainly. “I’ve spent so long hating SHIELD that it’s kind of a hard habit to break.”

“Just… Hate Garrett. Don’t hate SHIELD. Make your judgement on them after they vote on Matching reforms.”

Bruce felt about an inch tall. He realised that until now he hadn’t properly considered how attached Fitzsimmons were to their jobs at SHIELD, and felt guilty for dismissing Tony’s concerns over their involvement so easily. Tony had probably been right, it turned out. “Thank you.” He said quietly, reaching out to grasp Jemma’s hand. “For helping us. Maybe if they get rid of Garrett for good, they’ll give you your jobs back?”

Fitz shrugged, but Bruce could see at least some of it was bravado. “If we’d known this kind of job opportunity existed at Stark Industries, we’d have been out of SHIELD and knocking on your door years ago. It’s far less bureaucratic here, for sure.” He joked, and Tony snorted.

“For you, maybe. You don’t have to deal with the shareholders.”

Bruce thought that it might be rude to point out that Tony didn’t either, so he kept quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more left! :( I hope you've enjoyed the ride, by any means.


	18. Chapter 18

“Thanks for coming.” Fury said. Bruce struggled to stifle a yawn. He was operating on about three hours sleep and _God_ , he felt worse than when he just pulled all-nighters. He wasn’t young enough for this shit anymore. “Firstly, I’d like to apologise on behalf of SHIELD for—”

Bruce interrupted him with a shake of his head. “You’re not sorry that Garrett is a bigoted asshole; you’re sorry that Garrett got _caught_ being a bigoted asshole. We all know you’re not going to fire him, so forgive me if I don’t find this attempt at an apology very convincing.” Tony looked at him with shock?—admiration?—but Bruce couldn’t care less that it was Nick Fury he was speaking to. He wasn’t intimidated by the circles Tony ran in any more.

“We’d like to officially re-categorise your Match from Automatic to a standard Match.” He said, not bothering to clarify or comment on Bruce’s accusations.

And now they were being paid off. Brilliant.

“Do you actually have the authority to do that?” Tony asked with a raised eyebrow. “Because we were categorically informed that even if we could prove it—which we have, incidentally—changing our Match would set a ‘dangerous precedent’ and could cause the collapse of our society into chaos.”

Okay, so everything Tony just said was either totally made up or heavily paraphrased, but the context, and the sentiment, was a close enough impression of Garrett for it to make Fury uncomfortable at the very least.

“This isn’t something we have had to deal with before.” He started in defence, but Tony cut him off.

“Cut the crap, Fury. We’re not stupid. You want to find a market for our DNA Matching process, but you can’t start negotiations if you don’t acknowledge the implications of it working. That is, that we actually are Matched. This isn’t you setting the record straight or doing anything to help us; it’s just an unfortunate consequence of your own long term goals.”

Fury appraised them both with his one good eye, and then—of all things—smiled. “There’s no point trying to deny it, is there? But isn’t this a win-win situation for everyone? Surely you want SHIELD using your methods to test Matches; it’s much better than the current means of testing and could prevent situations like yours from ever happening again. Plus you would, of course, be well compensated.”

“I don’t see someone like Garrett going for that.” Bruce sniped, unable to control himself.

“John Garrett has been suspended.” Fury said coolly. “And in response to your concern last night Stark—‘temporary’ will be as long as it takes to get the facts straight. If his conduct has not broken SHIELD protocols, he will be reinstated shortly. But if—and I suspect that this is the more likely scenario—he _has_ broken SHIELD protocol, I will personally ensure that he is thrown to the dirt and will never so much as empty a waste paper basket for this organisation for the rest of his life.”

Tony looked as shocked as Bruce felt. He had been expecting blanket denial of any wrongdoing in Garrett’s control of the Matching department, but this was… refreshingly honest, as far as Bruce’s dealing with SHIELD have been. He felt another pang of guilt for Fitzsimmons. Maybe they were right—if Fury was serious, this place actually wasn’t as corrupt and backwards as he had forced himself to believe. And Fury looked serious enough—despite the fact that the guy was _terrifying_ and could probably snap him like a twig, Bruce trusted him, wanted to believe that he didn’t know anything about the shit that was going on under his very noise.

“But like… You do know he fired me the day after I became eligible for Auto, right?” Tony said leaning back in his chair. “Like, that is a fact. It’s on my employment record in black and white. Can anyone really claim that that is a coincidence?”

“Yes.” Bruce and Fury said simultaneously. “It will be the first thing his lawyers try.” Fury added with a roll of his eyes. “And you have no way of proving otherwise.”

Tony scoffed but didn’t add anything else. Fury looked impatient. “So do we have a deal? I’ll have your Match validated and you’ll let us have the patent to your research. Everybody wins.”

Bruce paused and glanced at Tony, only to find him with that infuriating little smirk plastered on his face. “The thing is, Nick—and you’d know this if you would have only read the paper—the patent on this is actually nothing to do with me or Bruce. All credit for the DNA breakthrough… Well, okay, maybe 70% of the credit, goes to Dr Reed Richards. So if you want to negotiate with him, I wish you luck. But we’ll have our Match validated anyway, thanks.”

Bruce laughed quietly at the angry look on Fury’s face. Not even the director, one of the most powerful people in the country, relished the thought of dealing with Richards. “You like to make my life as difficult as possible, don’t you?” Fury grumbled. “Of all people you could have found to collaborate with, it just had to be Reed fucking Richards. Do you realise how many hoops he made us jump through before he would let us have access to his fucking cold cure?”

Tony laughed. “He makes me seem like an angel.” He preened, and Brue smacked him on the arm. They were supposed to be acting serious.  Fury didn’t look impressed at all.

“I’ll speak to Richards. But in the meantime, I’m still going to look into getting your Match validated.”

“Really?” Bruce asked, starting to enjoy winding Fury up now that he was certain they were, in fact, just about on the same side. “What if Reed says that he won’t give you the patent? You’d be under no obligation to help us, then.”

Tony could see what he was doing and smirked, but Fury just looked frustrated. “I’m trying to help you here!” He said heatedly, his voice bordering on a shout from pure exasperation. “Reed isn’t going to have the opportunity to say no. That information is too valuable and too dangerous to risk falling into the wrong hands. He’ll give it to us, or else.”

Bruce barely knew Reed Richards, but he was perfectly aware that SHIELD did not have the power to make him do anything but exactly what he wanted to do. “Seriously, though. Richards is greedy. Just offer him a huge mountain of cash and a meaningless title and be sure to go on about how clever he is in front of the press, and you’ll have no problem.” Tony advised, getting up from his chair. “Now, was there anything else you wanted, or are we free to go?”

“There’s something else.” He said, but his deadpan expression gave nothing away. Tony reluctantly sat back down. “After speaking to the other heads of departments, several of them—Philip Coulson and Victoria Hand in particular—suggested that I offer you Garrett’s position on a temporary basis.”

Tony outright laughed. “Fat chance, Fury. Your lot fired me six years ago, and I have no intention of returning. Besides, in case you missed it, I am actually a pretty big deal at this little company called Stark Industries; you might have heard of it?”

Fury stared him down. “Trust me, Stark. No one has any intention of asking you to return to SHIELD. I was speaking to Dr. Banner.” Tony paused, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it again. Fury turned to Bruce. “You have an invested interest in the Matching process, you know how it works, and… well, to put it bluntly, no one is going to accuse you of corruption. It will start off as a temporary position, just until Garrett’s investigation is over, but it seems very likely that it could become a permanent role within three months.”

Bruce could not believe what he was hearing. “You’re taking the piss, right?” He blurted after a long pause. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

“I actually am fucking serious.” Fury responded, mocking Bruce’s words. “Coulson seems to think you’d be well suited to it.”

Bruce was surprised by that. He’d barely even spoken to the man, after all. What the hell had his life turned in to? “Well, I’m honoured, I suppose? But categorically not interested. At all.” He said, barely taking three seconds to thoroughly consider it. He didn’t need to. It might be a great opportunity for him to root out all the problematic shit going down in Matching, but something about the offer felt cheap… tacky somehow, like they were just paying him off with a job where he couldn’t cause too many problems. He had no desire to get any more involved with SHIELD.

“I thought you might say that.” Fury admitted with a small smile. “I would like to emphasise that the job would give you the power to authorise a vote on Matching reform to be held as soon as the end of the year.” He pressed on, attempting to push Bruce’s buttons, persuade him to come around. Fury wasn’t someone who heard no often, that was for sure. Bruce wasn’t stupid; the appointment would make up for a lot of criticism Fury had had fired at him in recent days, but did he have to be so _transparent_? God.

“Correct me if I’m mistaken, Mr Fury.” He said, forcing politeness despite an urge to scream. “But don’t you currently hold that authority anyway? This isn’t an issue that only I—or the head of Matching—have control over. You’re the person in charge of all of it. You could call that vote tomorrow if you so wished. You just don’t want to stand up in defence of Automatic Matches in case it backfires on you. But it’s not going to backfire. Coulson and Hand are both strongly in favour of Matching reform. Whoever you replace Garrett with will be too, because not even you are stupid enough to appoint anyone to that position who might align with the guy who just got fired for corruption. You pretty much already have your majority, Director. You don’t need me, or Tony, or Reed Richards, or anyone else. You just need some damn balls, and to stop making excuses.” And with that, and with Tony staring at him like he’d grown two extra heads, he stood up himself. “Now, is _that_ all?”

Fury looked up at him with a grudging admiration. “Yeah. I suppose it is, for now. We’ll be in touch.” He stood up too and held out a hand for Bruce to shake, but he ignored it and walked out of the office with Tony following behind. They made it through the foyer, down twelve floors on the elevator and out onto the sidewalk in complete silence before Tony broke.

“Oh. My. God.” He said gleefully the second they were officially off SHIELD property. “Holy fucking shit Bruce.”

“Have you got anything else to say, or?” He asked dryly. “We both know I’m right. He just wants it to look like someone else was the driving force to conceal the fact he has had the power to change things this whole time. I’m not being a pawn in his little game of political bullshit.”

Tony was still staring at him in awe. “Yeah, but you _said_ it. To his face! Is it wrong that I’m a bit turned on right now?”

“Honestly, I quite like it when I turn you on.”

“Well, you’ve definitely succeeded.” Tony’s driver pulled up with perfect timing, and they slid into the back. “I can’t believe he actually did offer you that job. I’m relieved you said no, incidentally.”

“Why would I want to work for SHIELD? I already have a pretty good job with the third best company to work for in the country. And the employment perks aren’t half bad, either.”

“Lab sex?” Tony grinned playfully. “ _Office sex_?”

“Health insurance.” Bruce deadpanned. “And an obnoxiously large pay check. And we’ve never had sex outside of our bedroom, T.”

“Maybe we should.” He challenged, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Bruce felt bad for the poor driver, who has probably had to endure more than Tony merely _talking_ about sex in the back of his car. That’s one place he was definitely ruling out. No car sex, ever. Or, no car sex when they were being driven by one of Tony’s employees, at least.

“I’m not saying this again. Kitchen, unhygienic. Lounge, too many people have access and I’m not into exhibitionism, thanks. Lab, too dangerous. Seriously. And not in a fun way.”

“So what exactly classes as dangerous in a fun way?” Tony asked with an almost clinically detached tone, but Bruce could see his eyes twinkling mischievously. Tony Stark had the world’s shittiest poker face.

“Well, that would only spoil the surprise.”

*

They were officially Matched within ten days. Bruce had insisted that Tony throw a party (“We’ve got Matched twice now. I got my celebration, and now you should get yours.”). It was short notice, but pretty much everyone made it, and even Bruce had a lot of fun. The ten days also gave Bruce something new to worry about—getting Tony a Matching Symbol. God. He hated shopping at the best of times, but how do you shop for something that meaningful for Tony Stark?

Clint told him that it wasn’t anything to worry about when he phoned up, panicking, but Bruce didn’t believe him. So he rang Steve, who told him the exact same thing. “Look, Bruce. He’s your Match. You’ll know it as soon as you see it, I promise.” He said, and despite everything they’d been through, that still sounded like vague, overly romantic ‘destiny’ bullshit.

They were totally right, of course. It was simple, silver, with chevrons along its length like a woven rope. It called to him immediately from the second shop he set foot in, and that was that. It was the easiest shopping trip of his life.

They presented their respective bracelets that evening, before the party, and Bruce couldn’t remember ever feeling that nervous. He knew the cuff was perfect; he knew Tony would love it, but it didn’t stop him freaking out as he knelt and opened the box.

“Oh god, Bruce…” He murmured reverently, lifting it out of the box with utmost care. Bruce stood, watching as Tony slid it around his wrist. He couldn’t stop staring at it, the contrast between the cool sharp silver and Tony’s warm, tan skin. He was aware that he was crying, but it felt like it was someone else, a hundred miles away.

Tony dropped to his knees, and held a similar box out. Bruce’s mouth went dry. The bracelet was a fine gold chain, studded with a large diamond that shimmered in the light. His hands shook as he went to lift it from the box, and Tony stood to help his fasten it around his wrist, snug enough to stay put but loose enough to not pinch. It was perfect, beautiful.

“Thank you.” He whispered, looking at Tony helplessly. “I love it. I love you.”

They held each other for what could have been hours, until the doorbell JARVIS had fitted in the lift dinged. “Guests are here.” Tony said, wiping his eyes carefully and smiling. “We should go up.”

“Yeah.” Bruce said. “You know, this could be the first time I’ve had something that I’ve wanted to celebrate.”

*

Bruce woke up the morning after the party to an empty bed, which was… weird. Tony almost never woke up before him, and even when he did, he preferred to lie in bed and annoy him until Bruce was rudely awakened too. He staggered out of bed, assuming Tony was injecting coffee into his veins or something, so went to meet him in the kitchen. It was empty. So was the lounge.

“Tony?” He called out hesitantly. There was no response. “JARVIS, where’s Tony?” He asked with a frown. “It’s not like him, and he told me yesterday that he doesn’t have a meeting or anything scheduled for today.” Besides, it was before noon. Pepper knew better than to schedule meetings for Tony before noon.

“I’m sorry Bruce, but Mr Stark has requested that I keep his current location on a need to know basis until he tells me otherwise.”

“Well, maybe I need to know!”

J paused for a moment, to assess gaps or loopholes in his protocol, probably. “For what purpose, may I ask?”

Bruce sighed. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “Tell him I _really_ want to suck his dick.”

JARVIS didn’t hesitate at all that time. “Many apologies, Bruce, but according to Mr Stark’s specific instructions, sexual activity is not a sufficiently important reason for interruption.”

Jesus. What was he up to that was so crucial that it couldn’t be interrupted for a blow job? Tony’s priorities were completely out of whack—or, he supposed, more aligned to a normal person who didn’t have the option to drop everything at a moment’s notice for oral sex. But it was frustrating, damn it. He’d grown accustomed to exchanging wake up blow jobs. He was being _deprived._ “How long is he going to be?” he asked. “Tell him that in fifteen minutes, I’m going to get off spectacularly and that’s all the action he’s gonna get today. If he’s not here, it’s his loss.”

He wasn’t actually expecting JARVIS to relay that to Tony, but the AI was nothing but thorough, apparently. “He says he will be fourteen point five minutes.” J said calmly. Bruce laughed. Of course he would.

Eleven minutes and forty six seconds later, Bruce’s hand slid into his sweatpants, smiling at the idea of Tony’s reaction if he were just two seconds too late. Withholding sex was pretty much the only way to get one over Tony these days, and it didn’t happen often. Because honestly, Bruce _really liked_ having sex with Tony. A lot.

It didn’t take long to get himself hard. He’d had more sex in the last bloody week than he’d had in his entire life before getting Matched, but he wasn’t tired of it yet. Tony was fucking sensational in bed (or on the couch. Twice. Bruce had held on to the veto on the kitchen, just about.). He was pretty worked up, his body thrumming with arousal by the time Tony actually walked in, although he might have exaggerated a _little._ Winding Tony up was just _so much fun_. He tipped his head back to rest on the couch cushions, exposing his neck and the line of hickeys that adorned the skin for Tony’s viewing pleasure, with his eyes closed, lips parted, hair somewhere between bedhead and artful disarray. Tony hovered in the doorway, not moving. “You coming over or what?” He asked eventually, glancing over at his Match before letting out a deep moan that was 70% fake but who cared? Tony’s reaction was pure gold anyway.

He had been holding something behind his back, but he quickly discarded it in order to vault over the back of the couch and land next to him. “Fucking hell, Banner.” He said, his eyes dark with lust and darting over his body, trying to take everything in.

“I said fifteen minutes.” Bruce smirked, speeding his hand up a little. “Maybe you’ll be more punctual next time.”

“It’s been fourteen!” Tony protested. He tried to grab Bruce’s wrist to move it away, swap his hand for Bruce’s, but he wasn’t having it. “What?”

“Nuh uh, Stark. You can watch.” From the look on Tony’s face it was like he’d just said they were ever fucking again. He didn’t know what felt better—teasing Tony into frustration or knowing just how desperately Tony Stark wanted to touch his cock. Talk about an ego boost.

“But—”

“Fifteen minutes until I was gonna come, Stark.” He reminded him, dropping his other hand down a little more to touch his balls under his sweats. It was even funnier that Tony couldn’t even _see_ the action—he knew what his imagination was like, and it was probably far more graphic in his head than it really was it Bruce’s pants. Tony pretty much teased himself. “Hmm, that feels so good.”

“Bruce, please.” Tony whined, pouting like an actual child. “This isn’t fair. I was doing something nice for you and now I’m being punished for it.”

“Oh, God, Tony—I’m so close.” Bruce gasped, his breath hitching, his hand speeding up as he got closer to the edge.

“I hate you.” Tony said flatly, but Bruce didn’t miss him slipping a hand into his jeans, palming at his erection.

“Oh god oh god…” Bruce came hard into his fist, laughing slightly as Tony moaned beside him. “Hmm, that was good.” He grinned.

“You’re such a… a martyr.” Tony said between panting breaths, trying his best to scowl through his blissed out sex face. It failed. “Only you would jerk off instead of having Tony Stark blow you, just to make a point.”

Bruce shrugged, grabbed a tissue from the coffee table to wipe his hand clean. “Worth it. You want me to suck you off to make up for it?” Okay, so he’d said that was the only action that he was getting, but he loved swallowing Tony’s cock so much that he couldn’t really resist. Tony didn’t bother responding, just unbuttoned his jeans fully and pushed them down his hips with a hilarious little wiggle.

Tony was fully hard, leaking, and let out a dribble of precome the second Bruce put his lips over the head. “Fuck, Bruce—” He groaned as he flicked his tongue into the slit. “You’re so good at that.”

“Well, I learned from the best.” He joked, licking with the flat of his tongue from base to tip. He took Tony’s balls in one hand and squeezed slightly, figuring he’d test out his hair pulling, bruise leaving hypothesis. Tony gasped, and fucked into Bruce’s mouth as his hips jerked involuntarily. Another drop of pre-come found its way on to his tongue.

So the hypothesis seemed pretty conclusive at this point. Tony liked it with a little pain.

“Shit, Bruce, I…” He struggled with the words as his cheeks flushed red. “Oh god please do that again.”

Bruce smirked and obliged, harder this time and was well rewarded with a string of cursing and a desperate Tony. “Oh God I am definitely going to explore this further.” He said with a wicked grin. The fun was only just beginning—they had _so_  much more to learn about each other. Tony moaned.

“Bruce, I really need you to—”

Bruce sunk his mouth down as far as he could manage, and stroked the remaining bit of Tony’s dick in time with his lips. He tried to vary the rhythm, keep Tony guessing, because despite everything he said, the guy loved a tease.

It didn’t take long at all before Tony’s thrusts became even more erratic, his breathing uneven and panting. “Bruce, I’m going to come if you keep—”

He squeezed his balls again and gave one last firm suck, and Tony came hard down his throat. “ _God._ ” Tony said pathetically as Bruce sat up and wiped his mouth, where he’d missed a splash or two. He licked the come from his fingers with a grin.

“Tony Stark likes a bit of pain, huh?” He teased, pinching Tony’s hip and making his gasp. “Who’d have guessed?”

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I know.” Tony said with an exaggerated sigh. “What can I say? I have terrible taste.”

“Shut up, Stark.” He said with a grin. “Now, did I see you with something when you came in? A gift perhaps? For someone who you definitely love with all your immaculate tastes?”

“I’m not sure you deserve it anymore.” Tony sniffed, turning away in mock offense.

“Seems a little unfair since I just blew you, but all right then.” Bruce shrugged, and moved to stand up.

“Hey, where are you going?” Tony yanked him back own. “I got you a present, you ungrateful shit.”

Bruce burst out laughing. “That’s what I thought.”

Tony jumped up to grab the previously discarded gift, wrapped horrendously badly because Tony had _people_ for these kinds of things and thus, no actual real world skills. It was quite large, rectangular, surprisingly light. “Oh my God Bruce, just open it.”

Bruce tore into the wrapping paper with slight apprehension. It was a large picture frame, ornate and beautiful and not the kind of thing you would normally associate with Tony Stark, but exactly the kind of thing he loved. Inside was the front page of the New York Times. Today’s New York Times, in fact.

“’ _Garrett fired in Matching scandal’.”_ He read. “’ _Grant Ward named as replacement.’_ Well, it’s about time, isn’t it?” Tony leant over and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

“You did it.”

Bruce kissed him back, unable to help himself. “You mean we did it.”

“Whatever.” He retorted, the effect ruined by breathlessness and the fact that they could barely keep their mouths apart. “I barely did anything.”

“Shut up.” Bruce laughed, fucking wanting to kiss every damn spot on Tony’s body.

“I’m serious.” He protested. “This one is on you, Banner.”

They collapsed back onto the couch, bodies entwined and in perfect harmony. The heated kisses slowed to deep passionate embraces, Bruce trying to make Tony understand how much this meant to him, how much _he_ meant to him. He didn’t know how to say it in words; this was all he had.

“Fuck, Bruce.” Tony said eventually, leaning back to snuggle against Bruce’s chest, making himself comfortable as the little spoon. Tony’s weight and warmth around him felt comfortable, safe and loved instead of claustrophobic and anxious, like he wouldn’t quite be complete without Tony Stark lying beside him. They barely moved for the rest of the day; only the occasional brush of Bruce’s fingers over the shining silver cuff adorning Tony’s wrist as they watched episode after episode of fucking _Dog Cops_ , and kissed as the sun set over Manhattan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> o god okay it's done wow??!? here's a sign off/update from me i'll try to keep it vaguely brief
> 
> 1) Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, left kudos or sent me messages on tumblr about this fic! You don't understand how much you guys all mean to me. Major shoutouts to my Tony Bruce Network squad aka [Brooke](http://tonysbruce.tumblr.com), [Ada](http://bunnybanner.tumblr.com) and [Andrea](http://anthonyedwardstarkisms.tumblr.com) for being generally awesome and the best internet squad on the entire internet, particularly Brooke who has to put up with my 3am panic writing pretty much every day thanks to the wonders of time difference. 
> 
> 2)A few chapters ago I mentioned a sequel/spin-off to this, and I'm putting this here so you can hold me accountable and make sure I write it because I'm honestly very excited about it. Basically it's going to be the Daredevil/Jessica Jones to this fic's Avengers. Literally. Take Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones etc, dump them in this universe and see what happens to people on Auto who aren't a) rich b) privileged and c) actually legitimately Matched the entire time. Throw in Aldrich Killian out to make some dollah and you have... well, I guess you'll find out when I actually write it. Tony and Bruce will be in it, but very much as background characters. It's mainly JJ/Daredevil people. Hoping to have it done by the Luke Cage release in late September but I've only written three chapters sooooo...
> 
> 3) This is because I got distracted by writing a) a Tony/Bruce/Pepper coffeeshop AU that was meant to be a oneshot and is now over 16k and is still not finished but should be soon and b) a sequel to my earlier boss!Tony/intern!Bruce fic, Working Overtime, which should hit the interwebs by the end of the month and is essentially just 10k of paperthin plot and dirty dirty porn. My fave.
> 
> I think that's everything. I totally failed at keeping it short. I'm making _(mis)matched_ a series so if you're interested in the spin-off/sequel, you can subscribe there and AO3 will let you know when it goes up! Thank you all again so so much! You're the absolute best. 
> 
> Love, C x

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a long ten months in the making, but on the bright side, this one is actually 100% finished! No waiting around for the last few chapters like last time. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter; it'll probably be about one a week. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> As always, I can be found on tumblr as [scibros](http://scibros.tumblr.com), so please come and hang out if you want.


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